ALASTOR

Born of old laughter buried too deep, this scent rises with a grin that never softens. It carries the hush of crooked headstones, the damp breath of southern swamps, and the thrill of violence dressed as charm. This is hospitality with teeth—warmly offered, never safe.

Graveyard Dirt – Dark and loamy, rich with rot and memory. The weight of what should stay buried, stirred just enough to remind the living they’re temporary.

Bayou – Wet, green, and buzzing with unseen life. Murky waters and hanging moss, sweet decay simmering under humid air, alive with things that watch and wait.

Black Pepper – Sharp and crackling, cutting through the dampness. A spark of menace and wit, the bite behind the smile, laughter sharpened into threat.

Hemlock – Green and quietly lethal, cool to the touch. Politeness that poisons, civility masking something terminal and patient.

He is a voice that never belonged to the living, a joke told at the wrong moment. The scent lingers like a tune you can’t turn off—cheerful, dreadful, and already inside your head.