Medusa00

The previous speakers had already been assassinated. Cyanide was the drug of choice. An agonizing death! Headaches, palpitations, vomiting, rosy skin color - at least then pale couch potatoes look healthy for once - suffocation, bitter almond smell when exhaling. The whole program. Bitter almonds are deadly and 1 almond per kg of body weight is enough. Just as an instruction manual.
Control freaks, liars, brutes, notorious cheaters, greasy paint monkeys, bullies and other dubious characters, be afraid, be terribly afraid! It will come! When? From now on!
Many years ago, he pushed her off the balcony from the 10th floor and threw her cat after her. He was never convicted for it. Even before she got downstairs, she underwent a strange transformation. She merged with her cat and came back as Catwoman (Halle Berry sends her regards).
She lies on the roof, whipping away supposed stardust with her tail and brushing her ears. Her eyes are glowing. She rinses her mouth with bitter almond flavoring. This disinfects and at the same time gives her a deadly, seductive breath. She plucks fluff from her fur and hands it over to the night wind. One job done. The stranger emasculated. The most he can do now is sing in the girls' choir. He had infected his wife and others with a virus. As a parting gift, she had stuck a citrus fruit up his butt.
She stretched her neck to look down from the roof. Below, a young guy pulled his girlfriend by the hair and twisted her arm. She grabbed a shingle, took aim and hit him. He was one ear poorer. Did he know van Gogh?
She sharpened her claws, sparks flew up. A cascade of cold magnesium fire. Unreal, dreamlike.
She had only one mission for tonight. To punish her murderer.
She landed on his balcony. Pure beauty and seduction. The green eyes glowed, the fangs flashed. She lured him out, he came only in his underpants. 10 degrees below zero. She barricaded the balcony door.
They would find him the next day. Frozen to death, with cold, staring eyes.
She quickly thought about powdering her tail and disappeared before the sun came up.

The sound of bells from afar
Stars shine above us
No one far and wide
There are two of us
Walking through the white winter forest
You can hear the snow and ice crackling
Because we only whisper quietly
We feel just like Gretel and Hans
Walking through the white winter forest
Softly, softly white flakes fall
And a deer steps out of the forest
Brown eyes look quite startled
If the forest is too cold for you, come home with me
There's a place by the fireplace
That belongs to our kitten

Before you get all emotional, I'd better tell you a pre-Christmas story. Besides, the snow is gone again, but let's imagine it was still here and we had a real winter with snow, ice and frost from December 1st to February 28th.
Quietly, quietly, white flakes fall and it's not the deer that steps out of the forest in fright, but dad, who has illegally felled a pine tree.
In tow is Newfoundland dog Pussy, who has repeatedly attacked the tree on the way, so that there are only about 20 needles left. Well, and it is put up anyway. As a memorial to the overexploitation of nature. From today, Advent, ergo arrival, has a whole new meaning.
Dad stomps the snow off his boots. In the living room, the whole family and their offspring are sitting by the fireplace. The fire crackles and the sugar loaf on the sugar tongs above the fire tongs punch crackles and drips.
Grandpa peels big oranges, lots of big oranges. He throws the peels into the punch bowl and crows (with a slight huff): "Finally, blood oranges again...." He has taken his teeth out so that the zest doesn't sneak behind his teeth. Warm, spicy aromas waft up from the table. Mom has once again baked her special Christmas stollen. Many, many spices waft through the room. Aunt Edith is knitting green alpaca wool scarves for everyone, a green hint on the side. The wood crackles in the fireplace, it was still damp and a little resinous. A teapot with incense burns under the punch bowl. The children stuff themselves with vanilla crescents.
Cousin Genoveva arrives with her 25th fiancé. At 39, she is now in her 3rd puberty. She had made a Christmas tree chain out of cinnamon sticks. At least the shaggy thing smelled spicy now.
Of course, the kitten was lying by the fireplace and Pussy was running around with Santa Claus, who had slipped down the banister. An unequal fight. 80 kg Newfoundland against a 1.50 m tall Santa Claus with absorbent cotton filling. Every year the Christ Child comes down. White flakes fall softly, softly.....

Conclusion: Although I am not a fruit lover, I say CHAPEAU Mrs. Neuffer. Full-bodied, spicy-warm orange fragrance with amazing longevity. However, I see Vermilion Orange more in the cold season.

No, not for foam babies who want to feel like Aphrodite. Or do they? They either emerged from the sea foam or a giant shell spat them out. We don't know exactly. The ancient Romans called her Venus. For the Greeks and Romans, she was the goddess of beauty, love, desire, fertility and other erotic stuff. That's not the worst thing a woman could wish for herself. Her partner might also like it. Unless he prefers dirty sparrows.
Maybe you're now saying: "What's she always talking about foam?" So let's get to the heart of the matter, i.e. the soulmate scent.

Aldehyde soap bubbles with a tangy, citrusy shot signal at the beginning: "No, I'm not a sweet little princess and certainly not the princess and the pea." Synthetic? Guys, it's aldehydes, they don't smell like melted butter. There's a bit of tautness here, a bit of creakiness. Mrs. Euphegenia Doubtfire sends her regards. The thought of Chanel No 5 flashes up, but can be dismissed. With No 5, the May bells jingle, here there is rose powder.
White flowers on natural legs in green vetiver stockings.
A steadfast, beautiful princess powders her nose, creams away the wrinkles around her eyes and swats her suitor with a fly swatter.

Some gentlemen may be interested, you can of course wear whatever you like, but you are actually off the air. Unless, of course, you stalk through the Chicago train station as Josphine and Daphne in women's clothes to hide in a ladies' chapel while fleeing from Gamaschen Colombo. Then, gentlemen, L'Âme Sœur could be something. "Wanna be Loved by You, Nobody else but You."

The House of Divine is still an insider tip and that's a good thing! Fine, sophisticated fragrances and not a new perfume flooding the market every week.

...in some ocean, somewhere in the world. Not sunk like Atlantis, but choked out by Poseidon, who was so nauseous that he ran the garbage he had eaten through his head again, backwards. This brought to light a number of creatures, worms, spawns of hell, evil people, hybrid creatures, monsters and what one can or cannot imagine as scourges of the world. In addition, Hades had once again cleaned up the underworld and sent him everything that didn't fit into the infernal biobin and then slammed the gates of hell shut. Well, he loved jokes like that.
He had already scolded him and threatened to let hell sink because the goofball was always burning plastic waste.
On the island, the Cyclops Polyphemus (Poseidon's wayward son) cooked his mother-in-law in a copper kettle, not in water, but in a chemical broth that polluters are still dumping into the rivers or the sea. She and her silicone implants burst in funny bubbles.
A Wehrwolf picked scraps of meat out of its teeth and vowed to bite something younger next time, as the meat already smelled very rancid.
Nosferato traipsed past in these rubber shoes and, because they prevented him from flying at night, he threw them into the fire. The smouldering smell of rubber wafted over the island. He had also had Botox injections and could no longer close his eyes during the day.
Charon had brought a load of polluters and hurried back to the river Styx because he couldn't stand it on the island. The sinners dangled in the wind and their flesh fermented. Not even the sea monsters Scylla and Charybdis wanted to eat it.

Cerberus, the three-headed hellhound, was the only sane one on board. Poseidon had freed him from his chains and so he gratefully guarded the island to ensure that none of this mongrel escaped.

Poseidon was fed up with the stench, the chemical broth, the clouds of disgust. He pulled out his trident and hurled the island back underground.

I've actually been through with Üsel for a long time. Why? because they've fallen prey to general flanderization. Especially when it comes to the whole opiumnitis thing. It's even more contagious than chickenpox. A bacterial variant is parfuminflationitis, which not only affects Üsel, but has spread from Arden to XerJoff. No antibiotics or enemas with warm salt water will help.
How is a flanker created? You take its most famous scent, in this case Opium from 1977, and hope that the wearers who wore it back then have died, are senile, anosmic or otherwise underexposed. Then you take the scaffolding, pull all the teeth out of the fragrance and stir in Toffifee, because the young people are on a gourmand trip right now. And, because Toffifee is very fertile, the mom has multiples every year.
Nevertheless, Libre's list of ingredients made me curious, if only because of the lavender. I LOVE lavender. Besides, Üsel used to have such great fragrances as "Nu", "Calandre", "Paris", "Rive Gauche", "Y", "Yvresse".
Medüse give it a chance! Well look at that! My teeth don't fall out straight away because it's too sweet. A few mandarins pickled in bergamot oil, but not too sweet, roll through. Lavender struggles a little, but then pulls back the curtain.
Crested lavender (see above) is nowhere near as herbaceous as the original, well-known lavender and a little milder. But still.
Flower absolutes that I like.
What bothers me a little in the "finish" is the mealy pudding sweetness of the tonka bean. I would have liked a little woody edge from the sandalwood and more herbaceousness from the lavender. But a woman can't have everything. In any case, Libre is a bright spot and quite wearable.
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