Elemi resin
Amber
Cypriol
Gaiac wood
Labdanum absolute
Maté absolute
Myrrh
Oud
Patchouli
Rose
Saffron
Vetiver
Sapho
23 Reviews
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Sapho
Helpful Review
5
Suada of a Mummy
About 6666 years ago, I was a young woman, born in Egypt, not
particularly pretty, defiant and headstrong. I wanted to travel, learn something new,
but above all, to be free. In my parents' house, freedom was only something
for men. When a gentleman proposed to me, I heard from morning till night:
"He is a good match." Yes, he was, significantly older than I, but
wealthy and in a good position. He was a embalmer. However, I did not want to
give up my freedom for a marriage. The worst part was his smell. He
claimed it was vetiver. To me, he smelled of earth, roots, and
rotting wood. He smelled like a tomb. A marriage with him felt like a
death to me. I told him all this without hesitation; I have always been impulsive
and direct. That was a mistake. He asked me for one last meeting. Far from
our estate, he lit a fire, from which a balsamic, ethereal
smoke rose. I inhaled this scent and suddenly could no longer move my
limbs or see anything. All that remained was this
smell, and I did not lose consciousness. He performed a ritual on me
and I understood that he wanted to have me for eternity. He rubbed me
with a sticky, brown substance, which contained balsamically sweet patchouli, also
amber, as well as sensual scents of roses, labdanum resin, and
guaiac wood...
At this point, I must abruptly end my little tale. My husband has
read it and found it repulsive and creepy. He even said that if
he had known about my sick imagination when he met me just under 6666 years ago,
his marriage proposal would not have slipped so easily from his lips. The story may be
repulsive, but the perfume I am writing about is beautiful, fascinating, but unfortunately far too overlooked.
Thank you for reading,
Yours, Sapho
particularly pretty, defiant and headstrong. I wanted to travel, learn something new,
but above all, to be free. In my parents' house, freedom was only something
for men. When a gentleman proposed to me, I heard from morning till night:
"He is a good match." Yes, he was, significantly older than I, but
wealthy and in a good position. He was a embalmer. However, I did not want to
give up my freedom for a marriage. The worst part was his smell. He
claimed it was vetiver. To me, he smelled of earth, roots, and
rotting wood. He smelled like a tomb. A marriage with him felt like a
death to me. I told him all this without hesitation; I have always been impulsive
and direct. That was a mistake. He asked me for one last meeting. Far from
our estate, he lit a fire, from which a balsamic, ethereal
smoke rose. I inhaled this scent and suddenly could no longer move my
limbs or see anything. All that remained was this
smell, and I did not lose consciousness. He performed a ritual on me
and I understood that he wanted to have me for eternity. He rubbed me
with a sticky, brown substance, which contained balsamically sweet patchouli, also
amber, as well as sensual scents of roses, labdanum resin, and
guaiac wood...
At this point, I must abruptly end my little tale. My husband has
read it and found it repulsive and creepy. He even said that if
he had known about my sick imagination when he met me just under 6666 years ago,
his marriage proposal would not have slipped so easily from his lips. The story may be
repulsive, but the perfume I am writing about is beautiful, fascinating, but unfortunately far too overlooked.
Thank you for reading,
Yours, Sapho
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