You walk through the Irish countryside, strolling aimlessly. My, what a fresh, brisk October afternoon it is! You wouldn’t call the day “sunny,” but it’s fairly temperate, all things considered. You begin walking up a steep hill. The grass is still dewy and a little slick, but it doesn’t take long to crest to the top. There, you see a small cemetery. Nothing fancy: no gates, no pillars, just a few rows of very old-looking tombstones. You pause to catch your breath from the climbing, and decide to wander through amongst the headstones. Why not? Quaint cemeteries are the perfect places to spend an autumn afternoon.
You stroll along casually, reading the names of those who died hundreds of years ago; many of them are around your age, you notice. Thank goodness for modern medicine! Towards the back, there’s something that looks a bit out of place: an ornate mausoleum. You’re drawn to it; you can’t explain it. It’s getting to be evening and you should really go home, but it’s calling to you. You start walking towards it. That’s when you notice a woman wearing a white dress and grey, dirty-looking cloak a few rows over. She’s bent over the grave, clearly distraught, holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers. She looks almost bridal, if not for the very dirty cloak. You get a sense of something both clean and precise, and dirty and unsettling. You turn away and walk past her towards the mausoleum, trying to shield yourself to give her some privacy. This is a place of mourning, after all, and here you are traipsing about.
The door of the mausoleum is cracked open, and you decide to explore inside. There’s a flight of stairs down into the ground, towards the tombs. You proceed cautiously, step by step, and start to walk towards the closest tomb.
Suddenly, the woman is at the top of the stairs, crying harder than before.
“Miss? Are... are you okay?”
She continues sobbing as she quickly descends the steps, and inside the hallway it’s even louder than before. She looks straight into your eyes. She’s crying blood. It’s staining her face, and her dress, and leaving a trail behind her. You open your mouth to scream, but her sobbing becomes an unearthly wailing; a screeching so intense it seems like the mausoleum will crumble and crush you both inside. You back up as far as you can, running smack into the final tomb. You look up, and see it’s marked with your name. You turn back to face your doom. She’s screaming so loud you feel like you’ve gone deaf; you have to cover your ears, you crumple against the floor, your eyes are closed, you can feel her bloody tears dripping onto your face, and then, there’s nothing.
Scent notes: Burnt sugar; baby powder; nag champa; real ylang ylang; a perfect sunflower; palmarosa; fresh figs; a moonlit night; decadent pomegranate; metallic copper; white musk.
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