Unicorn Musk Perfume

UNICORN MUSK

There was once a horse trainer who kept a stable in a town rather proud of its horsemasters.

The trainer had spent years working with difficult horses and had developed an inconvenient habit of noticing things other people overlooked. Horse training also happened to run in the family.

The trainer came from a long line of people who were good at making things, fixing things, teaching things, and generally acquiring the sort of skills that remain useful after everyone has finished discussing who their grandparents were.

The siblings had grown up learning trades rather than inheriting kingdoms. There were no ancestral castles, silver spoons, ceremonial estates, or conveniently positioned mountains of gold. There were tools, lessons, work, and the mildly unfashionable expectation that if you wanted to become good at something, you should probably learn how to do it.

This produced some rather inconvenient results.

One sibling became something extraordinarily rare: one of only two royal craftsmen entrusted with building the elaborate courses upon which the kingdom’s finest horses performed.

Another became a royal painter, eventually earning a place among the artisans entrusted with decorating the kingdom’s grandest halls. Apparently years spent quietly mastering a craft can occasionally produce the same sort of résumé people prefer to attribute to much more glamorous explanations.

None of this was particularly important to the trainer. Families have careers. It happens.

At first, the trainer thought the town might still be a good place to develop some new ideas.

Then things became strange.

After the trainer requested help with a pest problem, peculiar little offerings began appearing outside the stable door. First came pamphlets from a distant chapel, left without invitation. Then dead roses appeared, accompanied by solemn little verses about death.

Other curiosities followed with such remarkable devotion to the calendar that coincidence itself began to deserve an award for punctuality.

There were peculiar performances, too. People the trainer barely knew seemed to have acquired oddly specific opinions, and unfamiliar faces occasionally wandered past the stable behaving as though they had been given directions to a play whose script the trainer had never received.

Perhaps it was all coincidence. Perhaps the town simply had remarkably efficient pigeons.

Either way, the trainer learned something useful:

This was not an excellent town in which to keep anything particularly valuable.

Then, one afternoon, the trainer found a unicorn.

And with it, magic.

The trainer didn’t entirely understand the magic at first, so they experimented quietly. A little was used with one ordinary racehorse, and the horse ran better. Then another. It ran better too. And jumped higher.

Soon horses that had struggled for years began winning races.

The trainer excitedly brought the discovery to the town’s head trainer, explaining that there seemed to be something important here… something worth examining properly.

The head trainer was also a drummer and a painter, having apparently decided that one perfectly respectable profession was an unnecessarily restrictive arrangement. He had traded beating things with sticks for directing the stable, though the sticks appeared to have left him with a lingering appreciation for making a great deal of noise.

Curiously, the trainer’s family résumé seemed to fascinate him.

Naturally, he never said so. People who are completely unimpressed by something are famously diligent about keeping track of it.

Perhaps accomplishments are easier to categorize when they arrive with an estate attached. When they emerge from an ordinary family armed only with trades, practice, and an alarming tendency to become very good at things, apparently additional processing time is required.

In a town where everyone was quite confident of their own importance, having someone else’s family quietly succeeding in royal circles apparently constituted something of a municipal emergency.

The trainer explained the unicorn’s magic.

The head trainer haughtily laughed. He assured the trainer that there was nothing particularly remarkable about it and dismissed the whole thing with the comfortable certainty of someone who hadn’t bothered to test it.

So the trainer went back to the horses.

They kept winning.

That was when the trainer understood what had been found. The magic wasn’t merely unusual.

It was valuable.

And that presented a problem.

The trainer remembered the pamphlets, the roses, the verses, the remarkably punctual little surprises and, most importantly, the pigeons. There was no reason to find out what such a curious town might do if it discovered that there was something valuable and magic sitting behind an ordinary stable door.

So the trainer stayed. The horses stayed.

But the magic didn’t.

It was quietly sent beyond the town.

Some went to a distant kingdom where exceptionally tall riders competed in the most prestigious professional horse league in the world, supported by people whose entire occupation was figuring out how extraordinary athletes might become slightly more extraordinary.

Another portion traveled considerably farther, toward an international gathering held every few years, where the finest horses and riders from kingdoms across the earth arrived beneath their respective banners and everyone became extremely interested in fractions of seconds.

Those places had laboratories, performance specialists, researchers, and most importantly, a demonstrated ability to recognize that when something repeatedly makes elite horses perform differently, the traditional scientific response is generally to investigate it.

Not laugh at it in a stable.

The trainer found this distinction refreshing.

So while the town’s horsemasters remained tremendously busy observing the trainer, discussing the trainer, and occasionally dispatching another pigeon to investigate the trainer, the actual magic was already several kingdoms away.

Protected. Studied. And entirely beyond the stable door.

The townspeople could continue watching as closely as they pleased.

They were watching the wrong thing. This pleased the trainer.

And somewhere far beyond the town gates, the unicorn’s magic was already making extraordinary horses more extraordinary.

UNICORN MUSK… a fragrance for rare discoveries, unexpected magic, and the peculiar way something can become considerably more valuable after the wrong person decides it isn’t.

Golden narcotic floral with musky undertones. Heady Ylang Ylang and jasmine dance with velvety magnolia, delivering a warm heart to the sweet floral. Fragrant wood and subtle herbaceous spice round out this well-balanced blend. Fragrant and grounding.

This blend is Floral, Woody, Grounding, & Velvety.

90% Organic Ingredients.

Clean Perfume. Rooted in Nature.

UNICORN MUSK cannot technically be certified vegan, as the ethical status of harvesting musk from fantastical creatures remains surprisingly underrepresented in scientific literature.