07/26/2025

Reddawks
73 Reviews

Reddawks
1
Parcelse's Rose
You’ve been walking for three days. Exhausted, you knock on the door and don’t have to wait long before a man with a graying beard opens it. Finally. Paracelsus stands before you. You claim you wish to become his disciple, and the old alchemist invites you in. Alembics simmer amber and musk. From your pocket, from your worn leather satchel, you take out a rose whose heavy scent floods the laboratory. After all, perfumery too is an art of transmutation. You declare you’re ready to follow this man whose name the world whispers everywhere, but you ask for proof.
Rumor has it that Paracelsus can bring a burnt rose back from its ashes. Paracelsus laughs. He tells you you’re naive to think he could ever destroy it. But you’re not here to see it destroyed—you’re here to witness its resurrection. And indeed, the scent of this rose seems to shift, as though revealing countless facets, playing along with some invisible alchemist.
Paracelsus smiles. You rise and cast it into the fire. The flames devour it, the smell of smoke mingling with that of the rose, amber, leather, and God knows what else. You almost forget Paracelsus. Almost. The man, however, looks at you—disappointed. You realize the rumors were mere fables, that the man is nothing but a charlatan. You’ve forgotten that the path is the Stone. You’ve forgotten that the starting point is the Stone, and the scent no longer moves you. You only wish for one thing: to leave.
The door closes behind you. Alone, Paracelsus gathers a few ashes and, almost tenderly, whispers a single word. The rose returned.
Insta: switzer_scent
Rumor has it that Paracelsus can bring a burnt rose back from its ashes. Paracelsus laughs. He tells you you’re naive to think he could ever destroy it. But you’re not here to see it destroyed—you’re here to witness its resurrection. And indeed, the scent of this rose seems to shift, as though revealing countless facets, playing along with some invisible alchemist.
Paracelsus smiles. You rise and cast it into the fire. The flames devour it, the smell of smoke mingling with that of the rose, amber, leather, and God knows what else. You almost forget Paracelsus. Almost. The man, however, looks at you—disappointed. You realize the rumors were mere fables, that the man is nothing but a charlatan. You’ve forgotten that the path is the Stone. You’ve forgotten that the starting point is the Stone, and the scent no longer moves you. You only wish for one thing: to leave.
The door closes behind you. Alone, Paracelsus gathers a few ashes and, almost tenderly, whispers a single word. The rose returned.
Insta: switzer_scent