melancholic forest fairy fragrances and books
hello.
some scents feel like stepping into an old fairy tale—misty forests, quiet magic, something just out of reach. they smell like rain on moss, petals heavy with dew, the hush before the world wakes.
as we head into spring, i’m thinking about the shifting of the seasons and how spring isn’t just renewal; it’s longing. the last traces of frost, the scent of damp earth, the way the air holds onto something forgotten.
when i was little, my mom used to drive my brother and me up into the redwood forests, and it was the most at peace I ever felt. we went often—year after year, winding through quiet roads, the air thick with rain and pine. i had relatives who lived in a cottage tucked deep in the forest, surrounded by endless pines and moss-covered earth. something about it always felt like home. these scents, these books—they take me back to that. to a time when everything was still and simple, when the world felt vast but familiar, like it was waiting for me to step into it.
(to preface, this letter started as a video, but it felt too close to my heart not to expand. this world—the scent, the memory, the quiet fairy-tale melancholy—feels like home, and i want to stay in it a little longer)
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melancholic forest fairy fragrances:
relique d'amour – oriza l. legrand
the scent of an abandoned chapel overtaken by ivy, where candle wax drips onto cold stone, and the air is thick with incense and ghostly white lilies. relique d’amour is both sacred and overgrown—soft florals laced with the damp chill of ancient wood, a whisper of myrrh and old pages left to dust. it smells like something lost to time, something holy and forgotten, like the lingering presence of a prayer never spoken aloud. this is one of my favorite scents of all time— never have i ever found a fragrance that has made me feel as understood as this one.
notes: white lily, old stone, incense, ivy, myrrh, oak, musk
iris silver mist – serge lutens
like walking through a forest swallowed by fog, where everything feels just out of reach. cold air clings to the skin, soft and eerie, like frost settling over petals at dawn. it’s quiet, weightless, almost spectral—the scent of something just beyond the veil, lingering but never fully there. it smells like the hush before a storm, like something left behind, like footsteps disappearing into mist.
notes: orris root, galbanum, cedar, sandalwood, clove, vetiver, musk, benzoin, incense, white amber
the scent of a forest untouched— where mushrooms push through damp earth, and the air is thick with green, breathing stillness. it’s the feeling of wandering too deep, of stumbling upon something not meant to be found. there’s a quiet magic here—moss-covered ruins, the shimmer of twilight through tangled branches, the sense that if you listen closely enough, the woods might whisper back.
notes: balsam fir, woody notes, violet, red currant, birch leaf, mushroom, violet leaf, galbanum, green forest, oakmoss, elm
wild grass swaying in the breeze, the scent of earth after rain, something green, alive, and fleeting. it smells like hay drying in the afternoon sun, like wind moving through fields, like the last warm day before autumn sets in. if fairies leave footprints, this is the scent they leave behind.
notes: grass, bergamot, earthy notes, hay, watery notes, narcissus, haitian vetiver, tonka bean
a ruin overtaken by nature, lilacs blooming in the cracks of stone walls. it smells damp, cool, a little ghostly, like the way the air shifts before a storm. there’s something sweet here too, but distant, like flowers pressed between the pages of a book left unopened for years. this scent doesn’t just feel melancholic—it feels haunted.
notes: lilac, orris, ambergris, orange blossom, pink pepper, rose water, mandarin orange
the scent of bare skin under dappled light, of quiet warmth, of something unspoken but deeply known. it’s soft, slightly sweet, but grounded, like the moment after laughter fades but the feeling still lingers. if a fairy were to shed its wings and rest in the sun for just a moment, this is what that moment would smell like.
notes: pink pepper, angelica, tangerine, carrot, orris, cyclamen, white musk, papyrus, crystal amber
hinoki – comme des garçons
the scent of a forest shrine after the rain—cool, resinous, meditative. the dry woodiness of hinoki cypress blends with smoky incense and soft moss, like standing in a clearing where the mist never fully lifts. this is the scent of something timeless, something listening.
notes: hinoki wood, camphor, cypress, incense, pine, cedar
a scent like twilight settling over the woods—soft, quiet, full of something unspoken. it smells like black tea steeping in the air, like the warmth of a wool cloak wrapped around you. there’s a sweetness here, but it’s delicate, fleeting, the way childhood memories come back in pieces. it’s the kind of scent that feels like being held by something you can’t see.
notes: black tea, orange blossom, cherry, apple, rose, sandalwood, cashmere wood, white musk
the scent of an endless forest, towering pines stretching toward a pale sky, their needles humming in the wind. it’s sharp, green, and resinous—pure, untouched, like stepping into a woodland where time moves slower. there’s no sweetness, no softness, just the crisp breath of the trees, the quiet solitude of nature at its most raw. this is the scent of a melancholic forest fairy who never leaves the woods, who watches from the branches, who lingers in the silence between the rustling leaves.
notes: pine
la liturgie des heures – jovoy
a fairy who lingers in the ruins of a forgotten chapel, where ivy winds through cracked stone and candle smoke curls toward the vaulted ceiling. this scent carries the weight of time—ancient wood and myrrh whisper of prayers long since faded, while incense lingers in the air like the ghost of a hymn. the damp scent of moss and petrichor rises from the cold floor, blending with the hush of something unseen, something waiting. this is the fragrance of a fairy who walks among echoes, who leaves no footprints, who disappears like mist at dawn.
notes: cypress, myrrh, incense, elemi, musk, patchouli, oakmoss, amber
hermessence vétiver tonka – hermès
the scent of a fairy at the forest’s edge, where golden light meets shadow. vetiver hums low and earthy, grounded in damp soil, while a trace of sweetness—warm hazelnut, a flicker of tonka—drifts through the air like a half-forgotten spell. tobacco smolders in the distance, soft and lingering, fading into something rich and unknowable.
notes: vetiver, tonka bean, hazelnut, tobacco, praline, caramel, sandalwood, lily-of-the-valley
this is the scent of something ancient, something buried deep beneath the forest floor. it moves like smoke through the trees, lingering in the quiet spaces where no sunlight reaches. the air is damp with the weight of forgotten rituals, incense curling through the undergrowth like a spell half-cast.
notes: vetiver, cedar, guaiac wood, incense, olibanum, amber, clove, labdanum, pepper, tonka bean
the scent of earth after rain, rich and rooted, like something ancient stirring beneath the surface. cedar and fig leaves press into damp soil, the air thick with quiet, lingering spice. this is the forest floor at dusk, where fairies don’t flit or glow—they watch from the shadows, unseen but never absent.
notes: pink pepper, saffron, ginger, coriander, orris, fig, cedar, vetiver, sandalwood, musk
molecule 01 + iris – escentric molecules
a ghost of a scent—fleeting, weightless, always just out of reach. it moves like mist through the trees, slipping between waking and dreaming, never fully there yet impossible to forget. it doesn’t settle, doesn’t cling; it shimmers, disappears, then lingers in the air like a presence you can’t quite place. if fairies left behind a trace, a breath of their passing, this would be it.
notes: orris, iso e super
these scents don’t just sit on the skin—they pull you somewhere else. misty forests, overgrown ruins, quiet magic humming beneath the surface.
fragrance is the first spell, but books hold their own kind of magic. the right story feels like stepping into another world—melancholic, otherworldly, just out of reach. like these perfumes, the books I’ve listed below linger and pull you into something quiet, strange, and a little enchanted.
melancholic forest fairy reads: (some are adjacently related)
wilde’s lesser known fairy stories are drenched in longing, beauty, and quiet sorrow. they shimmer like golden light through the trees, but every tale carries a sense of loss—love unfulfilled, sacrifice unrecognized, beauty fading too soon. the nightingale and the rose alone feels like a fairy kneeling in the moonlight, bleeding for something that was never meant to last.
the bloody chamber – angela carter
fairy tales, but sharper, darker, and full of bloodstained lace. carter rewrites familiar myths with a gothic, feminist edge, filling them with dangerous beauty. these are stories of transformation—of young women stepping into the unknown, of forests that swallow you whole, of magic that is as much curse as blessing. a fairy tale world that is eerie, intoxicating, and forever haunted.
the buried giant – kazuo ishiguro
a mist-covered land where memory is slipping, where lovers search for what they’ve lost, where magic and sorrow intertwine. this book feels like wandering through an ancient wood where time folds in on itself, where whispers from the past drift like fog through the trees. it’s a fairy tale, but one that aches—a story of forgetting, of remembering, of what love leaves behind.
jonathan strange & mr norrell – susanna clarke
a book filled with forgotten magic—the kind that lingers in hidden forests and crumbling mansions, waiting to be remembered. clarke writes fairy tales within fairy tales, weaving a world that feels lost in time. the raven king haunts the pages, the english landscape thrums with something old and restless. this is a novel that moves slowly, like mist creeping over the moors, its magic unfolding in whispers.
wuthering heights – emily brontë
wind howling through the moors, love that twists itself into ruin, ghosts that never truly leave. this novel feels like a fairy tale told by a storm—wild, relentless, aching. cathy and heathcliff’s love is both an enchantment and a curse, bound to the land, as restless as the wind through the trees. a perfect gothic fairy tale—melancholy, untamed, and unforgettable.
the celtic twilight – w.b. yeats
not fairy tales, but real fairy lore—the kind whispered in dim candlelight, the kind that vanishes the moment you try to look too closely. yeats saw fairies not as whimsical, but as something eerie, something between the living and the dead. his prose is full of longing, of things glimpsed at the edge of sight, of a world that feels just beyond reach.
the complete fairy tales – the brothers grimm
because fairy tales were never meant to be gentle. these are the stories before they were softened—where the woods are dark, transformations are brutal, and magic always comes at a cost.
a fairy tale of time itself, slipping through centuries, bending identity like light through leaves. orlando moves through the world like a dream—both human and not, shifting, changing, becoming. woolf’s prose is fluid, hypnotic, a spell cast over the reader. this is a book about transformation, about being both part of the world and outside of it—just like a fairy walking among mortals.
a house that is an ocean, tides that sweep through grand halls, statues standing in silent witness. piranesi is a labyrinth of forgotten things, a world that feels like memory made physical. there’s something achingly sad about it—about a man alone, recording what no one else remembers, about the way the walls hold secrets. if fairies built a prison for themselves, it would feel like this.
lud-in-the-mist – hope mirrlees
a town afraid of what lingers at its borders, a mayor trying to suppress the past, an undercurrent of longing that never fully disappears. this is a novel about the cost of forgetting—about what happens when magic is pushed aside, when fairy fruit is forbidden, when the strange and the beautiful are buried under rules and reason. melancholic, eerie, and aching with something just beyond reach.
the starless sea – erin morgenstern
a story made of keys and doors, golden honey light, and whispered secrets. this book feels like stepping into a hidden library where stories breathe, where myths weave themselves into reality. there’s something bittersweet in the way it unfolds—like remembering a dream you once had but can’t quite piece back together. it’s magic that aches, that lingers, that vanishes before you can hold it.
the book of disquiet – fernando pessoa
not a fairy tale, but it feels like one—like a fragmented dream, like mist curling through old streets, like something slipping between your fingers. pessoa writes about melancholy the way a fairy might—half-present, half-vanished, dissolving into quiet observation. if sad fairies kept diaries, this is what they’d write: fleeting thoughts, longing for something undefined, existing in the space between being and disappearing.
okay, that’s all i have for you today.
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bye.
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Love all of these fairy tale book recommendations!! The bloody chamber is one of my all-time faves.
Yes! The redwoods are a dream. 🌳 Thanks for sharing all the lovely perfumes. Q: how do you feel about “clean” perfumes vs synthetic?