GRIMOIRE PARFUMS
PERFUMA ORBIS ALTERIUS
Discovery Set
Discover the collection from Grimoire Parfums: 5x1.5mL
NEPHILIM
In days of yore, whispers wove their way
Through the annals of time, where shadows stray.
Nephilim, born of celestial embrace and mortal plight
Cast a looming pall in the veiled night.
Ancient tomes bore witness to their sin
Tales of transgression and unforgiving grin
Wandering spirits, exiled and forlorn
Spawn of forbidden love, from heaven torn.
Legends of horror, spoken in hushed breaths
Echoes of giants, harbingers of death.
Swaying mortals to crave the forbidden fruit
Invoking a deluge, to cleanse and uproot.
The Nephilim's chronicle, shrouded in fear
A testament to darkness, perilously near.
Their colossal shadows stretch across history's span
A ghastly reminder of the mortal flaw in man.
PENANGGAL
When light bathes the land in gentle grace,
A lovely woman walks with a smiling face.
But when the evening's darkness descends,
The Penanggalan's true form suspends.
With head detached, it takes to the sky,
Hunting for women, as evening draws nigh.
In shadows it lurks, on rooftops it waits,
Listening for childbirth cries, at midnight's gates.
Its unseen tongue slips through cracks and seams,
Drinking blood in silent, dreadful dreams.
Leaving its victims weak and filled with dread,
As the Penanggalan, through the night, is fed.
Before the dawn breaks across the land,
Back to its body, it returns, planned.
Disguised as a human, with the rising sun,
The Penanggalan's nightly hunt is done.
NØKKEN
Deep beneath the waters, Nokken hides,
Crafting traps and shifting forms at will.
His melodies enthrall both young and wise,
As fiddle tunes enchant the eerie hill.
He takes the shape of horses with opal gleam,
Or ships with mane of mist and billowed sail,
A sturdy tree trunk, standing tall and keen,
Yet, beneath lurks a visage, dark and pale.
Moss-covered, with eyes aglow like yellow fire,
Teeth sharp and hungering for mortal fear.
His playful mien could swiftly turn dire,
But speak his name, or gift, he'll disappear.
TODORAC
In the ancient Balkan lore,
Where darkness and dread seep through the core,
Dwells Todorac, a fiend so dire,
Half human and horse, let death transpire
Leaving woe and ruin in their wake,
No respite, no mercy, with fear opaque
Their harrowing tempest, a terror untold.
Once a year, as winter wanes in view,
Todor's Day rises in dreadful hue,
Great Todor, the pallid specter, gaunt and lame,
Shrouded in white, dragging chains, a fearsome claim.
People heed the ancient words, prepare the rite,
To soothe these demons, banish their plight,
A sacred dance, an age-old refrain,
To fend off fiends, protecting the realm from chill and bane.
