We’re encountering a rose who is not just a protagonist in a horror film, but perhaps the film–a cursed film–itself. And not some schlocky nonsense that’s all jump scares and genre cliches, we’re talking the last violently spine-tingling, pants-shittingly terrifying film you saw and that you’ve begun to have ghastly nightmares about which are starting to eerily echo and reverberate through your waking hours. Court of Ravens by 4160 Tuesdays is, in short, and on paper, an incensey rose chypre--but rumors are the incense component is the boiling blood of a mad cultist mixed with strange and stinging otherworldly herbs, the rose grew sickly and sinister on the unmarked grave of a hanged murderer, and the chypre, well, it’s the usual materials of oakmoss and balsamic elements, but pounded on an ancient black altar to an oozing paste along with a secret number of drops from a cracked, cloudy bottle, and I don’t know what’s in that esoteric essence, but it smells shockingly of acrid fright-sweat, bitter adrenaline, and is underscored by a host of sharp, burning pheromones. So, you have probably reached the conclusion that I must love this, and you’re right, and I’m glad you guys can read between the lines.