Underworld Soivohle

I was so curious about this scent. I would have loved to meet the Prince of Darkness, as I adore dark, almost gloomy, somewhat melancholic fragrances. But when I spread a drop of Underworld on my wrist, I knew: I already know the Prince of the Underworld. He actually resides in my kitchen cabinet in the box with the gingerbread spices, which remain unnoticed all year and are pulled out again at the end of October with a glance at the expiration date.
To be clear, Underworld does not smell like finished gingerbread, nor like Christmas cookies, but rather like the somewhat spicy, unsweetened spice blend. And that's not all, as the coffee can and the cocoa package are in exactly the same shelf compartment.
Flowers do not stand a chance against the spice bomb on my skin. Neither lily nor jasmine, and no rose is recognizable to me. And Underworld does not present itself to me as balsamic, but rather somewhat dirty and stale, like in an ancient colonial goods store where the spices were still packaged. This is not unpleasant, but the scent almost borders on the edible; I could even imagine the aromas as an ingredient for a game marinade. No, I don't want to smell like that. I can imagine that Underworld gains depth and volume on male skin. For me, it only sparks the desire to clean out my spice rack.