#pure carrier oil

[kantaenterprises]

Grapeseed Oil: Versatile Marvel from a Leading Manufacturer and Supplier of Carrier Oils

Being a leading supplier and manufacturer of carrier oils, we take great satisfaction in providing goods that are incredibly versatile and high-quality. One such item is grapeseed oil, a light, odorless oil that is made from grape seeds and is a valuable addition to any cooking or cosmetic regimen. This oil is well-known for its smooth texture and mild flavor, and it is highly respected for its many possible health advantages. Grapeseed oil has several uses that can satisfy different demands, whether you want to experiment with natural medicine, improve your beauty routine, or improve your culinary creations.

Master Chef: Using Grapeseed Oil in Cooking

A notable characteristic of grapeseed oil is its elevated smoke point, which renders it a perfect option for high-heat cooking. Grapeseed oil keeps its integrity, so your food is safe and delicious even when other oils burn and release toxic components. Its flavorless taste lets the natural tastes of your food show through, whether you’re cooking meats, sautéing veggies, or making delicate sauces.

Advantages of Using Grapeseed Oil in Recipes:

Elevated Smoke Point: Perfect for sautéing, baking, and frying.

A neutral flavor does not overpower the flavor of your dish.

Smooth Texture: Gives food a light, subtle hint of richness without being heavy.

Skincare Savior: Grapeseed Oil for Healthy Skin

Because of its advantageous qualities and light consistency, grapeseed oil is a popular ingredient in skincare products. Rich in antioxidants, vitamin E, and vital fatty acids, this oil works wonders in fostering healthy-looking skin. Due to its hydrating and anti-aging properties, it is highly valued and may be used on all skin types, including sensitive and acne-prone skin.

Benefits of Skincare:

Moisturizing: Hydrating the skin without blocking pores is what moisturizing does.

Anti-Aging: By scavenging free radicals, antioxidants lessen the appearance of aging.

Healing: Promotes the healing of wounds and relieves skin irritations.

If you want to add some more hydration to your favorite lotion or use it as a light moisturizer after cleansing, grapeseed oil can be a great addition to your skincare routine. Because of its non-greasy texture, your skin feels comfortable and is left feeling nourished and silky.

Medicinal Marvel: Grapeseed Oil’s Health Advantages

Grapeseed oil has remarkable therapeutic qualities in addition to its culinary and cosmetic applications. Together with vitamin E and important fatty acids, its high antioxidant content makes it a beneficial supplement to a health-conscious lifestyle. When applied topically, grapeseed oil can promote wound healing, lower cholesterol lower inflammation, and enhance cardiovascular health.

Usage in Medicines:

Anti-Inflammatory: Lowers bodily inflammation.

Cardiovascular Support: Encourages heart health and lowers cholesterol.

Topical Healing: Promotes faster healing of wounds and relieves skin irritations.

Aromatherapy Friend: Improving Mental Health

As a flexible carrier oil, grapeseed oil excels in aromatherapy. Its light texture allows for easy blending with essential oils, enhancing their therapeutic benefits during massages or diffuser treatments. Grapeseed oil is a beneficial addition to any aromatherapy session because it helps with relaxation, stress alleviation, and emotional well-being in general.

Aromatherapy Benefits:

Simple Blending: Blends well with essential oils for diffusers and massages.

Relaxation: Lowers tension and fosters a sense of peace.

Emotional Well-Being: Enhances the healing effects of essential oils.

Conclusion

Being a carrier oil manufacturer and supplier, we know how important it is for our products to be both high-quality and multipurpose. Beyond being a basic kitchen component, grapeseed oil is a versatile ingredient that can improve your cooking, skincare regimen, and general health. Its lightweight and non-greasy texture makes it a skincare favorite, and its high smoke point and neutral flavor make it ideal for a variety of culinary uses. Its therapeutic qualities and advantages for aromatherapy serve to emphasize its adaptability and allure even more. Accept the power of grapeseed oil and learn how this amazing oil can change the way you live every day.

[oilsaromaaz]

The Wonders of Organic Carrier Oil for Mind, Body, and Soul

In the rush and bustle of modern life, it's easy to forget the value of self-care. However, amidst the chaos, there exists a natural remedy that has been cherished for centuries for its ability to nurture not just the body, but also the mind and spirit – organic carrier oil.

Organic carrier oils, derived from nature's purest sources, are more than just skincare products; they are potent tools for holistic wellness. From soothing frazzled nerves to rejuvenating tired skin, these oils offer a myriad of benefits that extend far beyond the physical realm, touching the very essence of our being.

Nourishing the Mind:

In a world filled with stress and anxiety, finding moments of calm can feel like a luxury. Organic carrier oils, such as lavender or chamomile, possess natural calming properties that can help ease an overactive mind. Incorporating these oils into our daily routines through aromatherapy or massage can create a serene sanctuary amidst the chaos, allowing us to find inner peace and mental clarity.

Revitalizing the Body:

Our bodies are our temples, deserving of love and care. Organic carrier oils, rich in vitamins, antioxidants, and essential fatty acids, offer a nourishing feast for the skin. Whether used as a luxurious massage oil or as part of a skincare regimen, oils like jojoba or sweet almonds can replenish and hydrate, leaving the skin soft, supple, and radiant. Additionally, certain oils, such as eucalyptus or peppermint, possess therapeutic properties that can relieve muscle tension and inflammation, promoting overall physical well-being.

Uplifting the Spirit:

Beyond their physical benefits, organic carrier oils have the power to uplift the spirit and nourish our inner selves. With their subtle aromas and healing energies, oils like frankincense or rose can elevate our mood, inspire feelings of joy and gratitude, and awaken our spiritual senses. Whether used in meditation, prayer, or simply as a means of self-care, these oils can connect us to the deeper dimensions of our existence, reminding us of our innate connection to the natural world and the universe at large.

Incorporating Organic Carrier Oil into Daily Rituals:

Research Say that incorporating organic carrier oils into our daily rituals is not only easy but also deeply rewarding. We can begin our day by diffusing a few drops of uplifting citrus oil to invigorate our senses and boost our mood. Throughout the day, we can carry a small vial of calming lavender oil to inhale whenever stress threatens to overwhelm us. In the evening, we can treat ourselves to a luxurious massage using soothing chamomile oil to relax our bodies and minds before bedtime. Each moment becomes an opportunity to honor ourselves and prioritize our well-being.

Conclusion:

Organic carrier oil is a versatile and potent ally on our journey to well-being. By incorporating these oils into our daily rituals, we can create moments of peace, joy, and self-care that nourish our minds, bodies, and spirits. So, why not take a moment today to embrace the power of organic carrier oil and embark on a path to holistic wellness that is both simple and transformative?

[doseofnaturals]

5 Essential Oils You Need for a Stress-Free Day

The importance of looking for organic means of how to relieve the stress of the day in the current society cannot be underestimated. The use of essential oils is an exquisite way that promote relaxation as it leads to mental relaxation and spiritual replenishment. Here are the five Essential oils that you should use day by day so that you can hardly feel stressed at all!

 1. Eucalyptus essential oil

The Eucalyptus essential oil is a many-in-one remedy famed for its uses in opening blocked tracheas and fending off mental fatigue. It gives off a cool, minty scent that reinvigorates the brain, calms the nerves, and minimizes stress. This revitalizing oil blend is great for establishing morning shower energy or any other time of day that may be convenient. You can use a couple of drops in the shower to make it an essential oil stream that will help invigorate your senses or fill your space with it to clean the air and improve your disposition. Because of the natural components added to it, it reduces stress and is used for the general well-being of an individual.

 2. Jasmine Essential Oil

Jasmine needs no introduction when it comes to uplifting the mood and also acts as an anti-anxiety agent, courtesy of the jasmine essential oil. It also works as an antidepressant and enables the person’s emotions to become stable and release enormous calmness. It can be applied as a natural oil perfume while bringing about a relaxing feeling that is needed in the day. On the other hand, using it as a diffuser makes it create a beautiful and relaxing atmosphere, which can work well when used at home to create relaxation. It is relaxing to the senses and thus can be said to have a healing effect on human beings while also being luxuries to the human senses.

 3. Cedarwood Essential Oil

Cedarwood essential oil is one of the best oils that help reduce stress and is suitable for relaxation and providing a good night’s sleep. It is most suitable for making the place calm and serene, which is suitable during the nighttime. To harness its properties, use a few drops in your diffuser mix at night to have your environment smell as calming as the oil. To be more specific, rub diluted cedarwood oil on the soles of your feet to release the tension and make your body relaxed for sleep.

 4. Frankincense Essential Oil

Frankincense essential oil is referred to as the ‘King of oils’ or ‘the oil of deep breathing’ because of its benefits in helping you to focus, meditate, and even release anxiety. Due to its highly aromatic, almost sticky consistency, it is perfect for meditation, as it helps to fight off a sense of being overwhelmed. If you want to use frankincense, add it to your practice of yoga or meditation by using it as a diffuser to set a calming and concentrated environment. Or, dilute oil in a carrier oil gently rub it on your chest, and breathe deeply to feel calm and accept the oil's calming properties. It is a miracle worker for health and can be used in a number of ways to improve one’s health.

 5. Lavender Essential Oil

 The Lavender essential oil is considered to be the king of all oils for stress relief and is a basic requirement in the list. It has a mild, flowery fragrance that calms the nervous system, reduces anxiety, and improves sleep making it a perfect tool for any treatment regimen. To use, simply place a couple of drops in a diffuser and let the scent change the mood of your room. You can also try adding lavender oil with carrier oil and rubbing the mix on your wrists or temples so that the fragrance can help calm and relax you for the rest of your day.

 6. Ylang-ylang essential oil

 Ylang-ylang oil is best described as sweet and floral and is widely used to treat hypertension and promote relaxation. It is suitable for use after a busy day at work or during moments when one feels stressed, this oil is designed to deal with body and mind stress. Ylang-ylang can be diluted with a carrier oil and massaged onto the skin for relaxation of muscles and to help calm down. However, you can also add several drops to your bath to help you make your bathing experience more relaxing, turning your shower into a relaxing moment.

Conclusion

Using essential oils is an easy approach to fight stress and improve your quality of life. The eucalyptus used to make these remedies invigorate the body while lavender and cedarwood help to soothe the mind and body. Sweet almond and lavender oil not only calm your nerves but also make your surrounding environment friendly to relax after a busy day at work.

For the true miracle working of these oils, check out the natural bounty of pure and authentic selection at Dose of Naturals Our selected oils are to help you create a calm and balanced environment in your life. Start your stress-free journey today—go to the Dose of Naturals and find the power of nature’s best remedies

[uhrohmuhseo]

Learn How Organic Essential Oils Can Ease Headache and Migraine Symptoms! Discover the holistic approach to managing headaches and migraines with organic essential oils. From promoting relaxation to reducing inflammation, find out how these natural remedies can enhance your well-being. Dive into our article now!.

[getnaturalessentialoils]

Revitalize your senses and enhance your well-being with our selection of Powerful Essential Oil Blends for Health and Well-Being. Crafted with care and precision, these blends are designed to invigorate your mind, body, and spirit, offering a natural solution for everyday wellness challenges. Read more!

[wintersongstress]

A Dream’s Winding Way

Part II — The Weaver and the Loom

Pairing: Arthur Morgan (high honor) x Female Reader

Summary: For as long as you could remember, you dreamt of falling in a love so whole and pure it was worth enduring the many griefs in your life. But the world, cold and cruel as it was, robbed that dream from you, and you believed you would forever be broken until you met a man who was scarred in his own way.  

Word Count: 10.8k

Warnings: sexual assault trauma responses, murder, canon-typical violence. 

A/N: Arthur will make his appearance at the end here ♥ thank you THANK YOU @the-halo-of-my-memory​​ for beta-ing 💞 

Part I | ao3 link

                              ~ II — The Weaver and the Loom ~

Snick. 

The bolts inside the cabinet lock slid free. Between your finger and your thumb, the tarnished key in your grasp opened a long-latched door, a swoosh releasing dormant air. Inside the stale cell, relics of the past awaited, felty with dust. A chatelaine belt rested on the shelf, ornate with filigree, alongside a satin pouch, a crystal hat pin, silver spurs with brass rowels, and a wedding bouquet, its once-white roses shriveled and decaying. You paused once, running your fingers over the cool rivets of a sapphire brooch, and overlooked it all, instead retrieving a new vase for the kitchen table—one that would not shatter into pieces when it fell—and a tattered recipe book. 

With the book settled in your lap you opened it with a crack. Antique, creamy pages inked with words fluttered past your fingers, food stains mottling the margins alongside cursive pencil scrawls. A flattened sprig of poppy bookmarked the page for an oatmeal pie recipe. You tucked it back in for time to keep safe. A few gentle turns later you found what you were looking for and rose from the floor of your grandmother’s room, relocking the cabinet, and shutting the door behind you. You donned an apron and began your work.

The rugs, the curtains, all were taken down and rolled up, flapped outside, and beaten with the handle of your broom. You swept the floors of broken vase shards and stray leaves, replenished the oil in the lamps, trimmed the candle wicks, tossed out last night’s dinner, laid a new tablecloth, filled the silver ewer from your grandmother’s cabinet with water and fresh flowers, and scraped the ashes out from the fireplace. Wood clopped as you piled it up in a canvas carrier outside and lugged it in. Soap suds splashed your wrists as you scrubbed the dishes spotless. All the while the clock ticked on, from hour to hour, the day waning, until you could no longer prolong the inevitable, and commenced your grisly task. 

You propped your family recipe book open on the counter and fetched a large stew pot from the wall rack. The cutting board hosted the full spectrum of ingredients you needed, so you set the pot over the stove flame and warmed a dollop of butter and olive oil. The yellow onions you chopped sizzled as you added them in, and, using a knife, you deployed your special ingredient from the cutting board. A few dashes of salt and pepper joined the mixture next, and once the onions popped their flavor, caramelizing, teaspoons of dried sage and thyme hand-picked from your garden snowed from your hand with clumps of chopped garlic. 

Stirring, mixing, curdling, after a few minutes a pour of red wine and a splash of vinegar came next, making the soup bubble fragrantly. You scraped the copper bottom with a wooden spoon, stirring the browning bits of onion and garlic around, and drowned it all in three cans of beef broth from the general store. Two bay leaves fluttered in last before you covered the pot with a lid to let it simmer. 

The Sheriff would have a fine last meal. 

When the first three stars appeared in the evening sky, your cottage was aglow with soft light and welcoming with the scent of a rich dinner. Fine dishes and silverware sparkled on your table with a basket of bread in the center beside a lit candelabra. A fire warmed the hearth, and the alluring shimmer of dusk slipped in through the clean curtains. All was set. You sat in your armchair and waited, staring at the flames. 

Hoof beats. Sweat chilled your palms as the sound drew nearer and you stood to peer out the window. The dot of a lantern bloomed in the distance. You tucked your shirt into your belt and clutched your shawl tighter, holding your heart to tame its wild beating, fingertips bumping the band of your mother’s ring, still hanging around your neck from a chain. The most important thing for you to do was breathe, slow and even, so your blood could thrum throughout your body as it was supposed to and give you strength. It flowed into your heart and you closed your eyes. 

“Ease up,” a voice called. His voice. 

A horse nickered, blowing out its nostrils. Leather creaked as he dismounted from his saddle and the bit tinkled as he hitched the reins, whistling. You could imagine it all, him fixing and grooming himself as he walked up, expecting a girl who would be so happy to see him and enamored with him that she made her home all nice to welcome him after a noble day of hunting outlaws. 

The jingle of his spur was as foreboding as a snake’s rattle as it marched up the flagstone path. You positioned yourself in front of the stove, bending over the pot with a spoon and stirring the flavorful broth, a smile schooled on your face. 

“Honey pie, you home? It’s me.” 

The picture of a perfect wife, you thought, standing in your inviting home in a cooking apron. He would only see what he wanted, blind to you being capable of anything else. 

“Door’s open!” You chimed, and the doorknob turned. 

Some change at once went through the room. In a heavy, dominant rush it all came back, like the strong winds the night before that rattled the window panes and made the trees plunge and bow. You spent all day distracting yourself from the flashbacks of his lurid words, the fondlings, and the sound of his labored breaths. Anguish seized your throat at the footfalls entering your home once again and the pillar of strength you constructed within, had leaned upon, began to crumble. 

You had a hangnail on your thumb. You discovered this while squeezing your fist tight, tethering yourself to the present. It was a welcome, soft twinge of pain for you to focus on and you picked at it, fixing your eyes on the window. The candle before it illuminated the glass, and you watched the sapphire heart of the flame waver, heard the little hiss of it, and glanced beyond. A sky wistful with waning blue, a sunset throwing gold on all that was green, a hush of wind passing through the leaves, and your reflection blending in between. To take it all in brought you forward in time, to a crackling fire and a bubbling soup, and a purpose hanging over your heart. 

It is not happening again, you reflected. And it will never happen again. 

You were safe, you reminded yourself, safe in the present, grounded, and irrevocably turned to face the man who hurt you in a way no one ever had. You looked at him without seeing him, a dish towel in hand. 

“Come on in, I have some dinner on the stove. It'll be ready in a jiff if you want to hang up your things.” 

“I would be delighted,” was his reply. 

He took off his Stetson, hung it on the hook. The sound of his coat being tugged down his arms and his gun belt unbuckling made your heart beat fast and your fingers curl into your palms again. Shaking, you gripped the edge of the counter. Steam from the bubbling pot kissed your cheeks.  

A chair scraped across the floor. “It smells delicious, sweetness. I’m downright famished.” 

You breathed in and out slowly. He folded his leather gloves beside his table settings and you prepared a dish for him. With a gulp and a clench of resolution, you dipped the ladle deep and unearthed the chunks of vegetables, pouring them artfully into a bowl, spoonful after spoonful.

“Any luck tracking down that gang?” 

He sighed, deep and tired. His elbows knocked on the table as he reached for the loaded bread basket. 

“They slipped through our fingers last night, but we almost had ‘em.” Pulling the loaf apart, he ripped a piece and tucked it into his mouth. 

You rounded the table and laid the baleful meal on his place setting, in a daze as he happily snatched up his spoon. 

“Oh my,” he marveled. The polished silver of the utensil disappeared in the broth and came back up replete with the softened wild bulbs. 

“These onions are quaint,” he commented. 

The lie came to your tongue easily. “They’re called pearl onions. I have them growing in the back.” 

And with a pleased grin, he feasted. You sat across from him with your own bowl, your spoon a special porous one so you could pretend to eat alongside him. He dipped his bread in the soup and drained his glass greedily, refilling it himself from the pitcher you set on the table earlier. Before long he scraped the bottom of the bowl and you replenished it. 

You tried not to pay attention to his sordid aspect. The way he sniffed loudly and chewed openly, the dirtiness of his face from riding, the grease slicking his unwashed hair and the matted tips of his mustache, his eyebrows also unkempt and overgrown. You fixed your eyes to the grain of the wood instead, ate your bread with a slice of cheese and a handful of walnuts, munched on the salad of spring greens you prepared, all the while waiting for time to take its natural course as the toxins of the ostensible pearl onions invaded his system. 

“You’ve been quiet,” he observed. His hunger appeared to sate as he scraped up the last dregs of his supper, affording his utmost attention back to his hostess. “Why won’t you look at me?” 

You lifted your chin from your palm. Something in his expression shifted with awareness. 

“Is this about last night?” he went on. When you remained simmering in your silence, he deflated. “Listen, I–I didn’t mean to get so rough with ya. I was drunk, and I’m sorry.” 

Your insides twisted and flamed, refusing to be quelled. You shot up, turning your back to him and crossing your arms as you faced the window. 

“You’re sorry?” you seethed. A drum pounded in your ears; it was the mad pulse of your heart. Tall in your judicial resolve, you whirled and directed your fury towards him in its full magnitude. “Not a bone in your body is capable of being sorry,” your voice shook, low in its tenor. “You saw an opportunity to take advantage of me and seized it. The way you spoke to me—degraded me—it’s impossible for me to believe you didn’t enjoy every moment of your vulgarity.” Split flew as you scoffed at him. “Regret is not within you. Not when I see now that you planned it. All along.” 

He broke into a laugh of disbelief and leaned back to survey you. The worst kind of smile distorted his face, as if your fit of temper delighted him. 

“Yer actin’ like you didn’t want it. Like your cunny wasn’t drippin’ wet for me–” you lunged forward, vision red and nostrils flaring, ready to seize his neck in your hands and crush his windpipe like the frail stalk of a vegetable, but stopped, grasping the back of your chair instead. You despised the idea of having to touch him and were reminded that you would not have to get your hands dirty to kill him. But you were prepared to. How much longer could you stand his gloating and his shameless iniquity? The wood of the chair’s cross rail creaked beneath your unforgiving knuckles. The Sheriff smirked at your little display. 

“I think you’re just ashamed and don’t know how to admit that you liked it,” he argued, pointing his finger at you; then he shook his head. “What nerve you have, bein’ a little cocktease with me. But I didn’t treat you like those whores in town, no, I went out of my way to…to enamor you, bringin’ you flowers while you greeted me in your garden in your lace and your pretty smiles, a pie coolin’ on your windowsill. You know my dear Carolynn never blessed me with a child, and here you were,” he gestured to your frame and the home around you. “Takin’ on the responsibilities of housekeepin’ all by yer lonesome. All you needed was a man to take care of you, and I could be that man. Honey, I want to marry you. I could make you happy! Can’t you picture it?”

Flushed from his diatribe, he pleaded with you, half-rising from his seat until you thrust out a hand in warning. Surprisingly, he heeded your tacit command. Disgust curled your lips into a sneer. 

“Marry you?” you echoed, hollow with disbelief. Your vision blurred and you blinked against the mounting tide of revelation washing over you. His mindset, his reasoning, it was unfathomable, and you struggled to piece together a sentence. “This whole time…that was your object? And you thought that by—by trapping me, and giving me no other choice, that I would accept you?” 

His eyes rolled heavenward and frustration flashed across his oily face. “Lord knows I’ve been patient,” he gnashed his teeth, voice raising a note higher. “I didn’t want any other man to have you. What, you think you’re meant for one of those half-witted grangers in town? They don’t know the first thing about women, let alone how to keep one as pretty, smart, and pure as you. You know it’s downright sinful to keep such gifts to yourself.” 

His words were worse than his touch. You had not one to describe your own sensations; the shock of his inflicted on you completely suspended your power to think and feel. 

“Sinful…” you wandered over his meaning. “You’re a hypocrite.” Releasing the chair, you stepped away a few paces and shook your head, huffing to contain your brimming despisal for this man. You refused to listen to him any more. All throughout the day strands of thought had weaved through your head, firmly knotting into what the shame made you believe about yourself. That you were ruined. That you were worth less. He must have thought he was paying you some kind of compliment, saying what he said. The refutation rose in you to a forbidding height, like the dust before a whirlwind, and your lips parted to release your final judgment of him. 

“You don’t know the first thing about me: about what I want, or what I need. What you did was assume. You assumed I wanted someone to come around and sweep me off my feet, save me from my solitude, and you assumed that I wanted you. A gluttonous, arrogant, entitled pig who can’t take responsibility for his own actions, who would rather blame them on the beast at the bottom of the glass,” you spat with venom. Emotion began to wrack your voice, lifting and dropping it like the swell of a wave, but you plowed forward, pinning him to his seat with the fearsome gleam in your tear-stricken eyes. 

“The worst part about it is you could’ve made your intentions clear! I could’ve been spared from all this pain if you had only the stones to be straightforward. But I guess the prospect of your hurt pride was too much to endure. Deep down, you knew the only way you could have me was unwillingly.” 

Your hand clutched at your breast, wrinkling your shirt and tangling in your necklace chain. You let go and charged forward again, and this time, the chair rail snapped in your hands at your final word. 

“You had no right. You’re the most pathetic excuse of a man I’ve ever seen, and I’ll be glad to see you drop dead.” 

At the crack of wood he sneered. No longer tolerating this speech, he stood, and for a fleeting moment you shrunk back. Until his hand—his fat, pallid hand, still bearing a wedding band—braced itself on the tabletop and he wobbled on his feet. Blood rushed to his face and a delta formed in his forehead as he blinked at the ground, as if his vision was filled with spots while his legs drooped unsteadily beneath him. He clenched his gut and groaned. 

A griefless laugh croaked from you. “You know, they say that wishes and dreams have a winding way of coming true. It looks like you are gonna spend the rest of your life with me, Sheriff.” 

His sight fixed itself on the bowl in your place setting, at the spoon resting in it, and how none of your portion was consumed. He had the look of a man who realized something too late. The vein in his neck fluttered and his breaths sawed in and out of his lungs. Sweat dotted his temples and a thread of saliva spilled from his wobbling lip. 

“Wh–what did you d-do?” He choked out. 

The compass of your soul spun and whirred, before the ruby-tipped point settled decidedly south. 

“What I had to.” 

As his knees gave out beneath him, the Sheriff clutched the table’s edge, and the peaceful, law-abiding chapter of your life ended. The scent of bile fouled the air as he retched and retched, his body rejecting every morsel of the Death Camas he had stomached, and the pallor of his skin colored to that of fish’s belly before the monger’s crude knife carves it open. Not a twinge of sympathy or regret rippled inside as he fell helpless to the floor. Not at his struggle for breath, at his uncontrollable muscle spasms, or the chunks of undigested food dangling from his chin. He would lie there, wheezing and convulsing in a mound of his own vomit, until his heart stopped. You had no desire to watch, and you had no desire to wait any longer for your meteoric flight from this tainted place of grief and despair. 

You unlatched the trunk in your bedroom and sifted through your belongings. Two saddlebags quickly filled. You packed the essentials: bedding and a camp outfit, medicine and provisions, clothing for severe weather, and valuables to fence. Rummaging through the kitchen, yanking open drawers and cabinets, you moved mechanically, occupying your mind with a plan moving forward, all the while a man lay dying on your floor, twitching and choking, sightless and inert. His breath was a mere rattle as you dressed yourself for travel and long riding, laying your necklace with your mother’s ring inside a sack for safe keeping. This was not the time for thoughts and moral ruminations, it was the time for action. 

It would buy you time–and perhaps forego a bounty altogether–if you buried the body. His absence from town would not go unnoticed, but—Oh, yours would not either. Regardless, your next course of action began to formulate itself. You would need a shovel, a rug or a blanket, and a lantern, for the sun had dipped below the horizon and would not light your path. 

As the night closed darkly in, the sunset folded its wings over the rib cages of clouds; the last pulse of color on the shore of the world a glowing, molten shade of marmalade. Insects clacked and clicked in the dusk as you stepped out in your hunting jacket, hoisting your supplies over your shoulder on the dirt path to the stable with a lantern swinging in your free hand. White moths flittered around the light and followed in your grim, resolved wake.

You hung the lamp on a hook behind the creaking door, illuminating the hay-strewn space. Bridles, bits, and martingales populated the wall inside the stable, with rakes and shovels propped up from the ground. An empty wheelbarrow served as a temporary home for your provisions, setting them inside so you could perch yourself on a stool in the corner to strap on your spurs. 

Willa shifted on her hooves to adjust to the weight of the various sacks and pouches you affixed to her saddle, but she complied with a trusting snort. You spoke to her kindly, stroking her forehead, knowing that she was listening in her own way and understood her importance to you. Without her, you would be alone. Without her your future, your freedom, it would all be infeasible. You led Willa out into the night, a shovel tucked under your arm and your lantern restored in hand. 

An owl hooted and a pack of coyotes yipped and yowled, the sound carrying throughout the valley. Willa’s keen ears flicked, along with her long tail, and you gestured for her to wait behind the cottage, hitching her to an oak sapling. You intended to trudge through the muck of the funereal situation as quickly as possible while the night breeze slipped cool fingers through the forest and snuffed out the last tendrils of daylight. You marched back into the firelit house for the last time.  

The stench hit you first. Foul and nose-wrinkling, you tugged your collar up against the smell and regarded the log of the Sheriff’s body, lying rigid. In death, he soiled his pants, as all men do. The body releases everything and the muscles stiffen and lock, blood stagnates in the veins, the skin purples, the tongue lolls out, and the eyes fix wide open to meet the unknown. Nature takes its course. Flies are drawn by some promising whiff of a feast in the air and consume the dead flesh in a quivering swarm of greed. Time passes. Maggots crawl. And bones will be all that remain, until, some day, they are dust for the wind to claim. 

He was the one you rushed to when you found your grandmother cold in her bed. He was the one who arranged for the church to collect and prepare her body for burial beside your parents in the local graveyard. He was one of the persons who offered you words of comfort during the funeral. 

He was the man who hurt you most in the world. 

And he was no more. 

It was a yawning, black moment, the one in which you stood, hesitating on some windy pinnacle, reflecting on not what will be, but what, long since, has been. Your throat choked around nothing. What has become of you? The future stretched out before you gray, interminable, and desolate. Thoughts crowded thick and fast in your mind, and you imagined carrying out the rest of this act—covering his body, dragging it across the floorboards, the weight of it, the slack look on his face, the creases of his fat fingers outstretched from his limp hand, and you knelt to the floor with a gathering horror of your deed, a tremor pulsing in your throat, your heart crumbling to the same ash dropping in the dim fireplace. 

A numbness possessed you to pull up the corners of the rug, to nudge his body to the center of it with your foot, to wrap the carpet around his form and tuck him inside. To do what needed to be done. Your mind turned off. It had to, for it was the only way to endure. There was no choice left for you. But you wished you had listened. To the night, to the change in the wind, for the footsteps of fate and the creeping shadow of the terrible god of chance stepping into your doorway, eclipsing your hope of escape from this dire strait. A darkness was gathering in the hush; the kind something crouches within.  

Fate is a weaver, poised at a loom; the spider over your garden gate. It works silently and unseen, amidst an intricate and silvery web, attaching invisible strands of possibility along a path leading to an inescapable epicenter. Fate, with its nimble clutches, spins and entwines, pulls one thread, wends the other, until the time comes when the unwary traveler reaches a pivot point, the moment when their life goes down one path or another, and the spider strikes the grappling victim caught in its web.  

Back first, you dragged the carpet bearing the Sheriff’s body outside your door. His boots stuck out from the roll, thumping along the ground as you grunted with the effort of transporting him, using the strength behind your legs to shuffle farther along. The light from inside spilled out along the flagstone path, and as you stopped to establish a stronger, more efficient grip, your ears pricked at a pair of unfamiliar spurs clicking and scuffing to a halt behind you. 

A pin-drop silence encased the air. 

Your heart froze. Ice enveloped your ribcage and crystallized the blood inside their elaborate vessels, each breath serrating through your chest like a razor. For a time, only the stars moved with their twinkling. Slowly from the ground, inch by inch, you turned your head and your sight rose to the face of the intruder, the sole witness to your grisly act, and you almost laughed at how twisted fate could be. 

A faltering deputy was fixed in place on the path, taking in the undeniable scene before him. He was no stranger. You recognized him in that slant of dandelion light by the curled tip of his nose, his ruddy cheeks, and the cleft in the middle of his chin. His beard was strong, a shade darker than his hair and not so red as his skin, and he had grown into his jaw, the line of which had become more pronounced and square. He wore wrinkled pants tucked into worn, dusty boots, with his lanky frame swallowed by a long duster, a vest beneath it buttoned all the way, and a gun belt sagging around his hips. Ungloved hands hung at his sides, fingers that long ago squeezed the curves of your budding body dangling emptily. 

Though he scarcely looked it, he was the boy from the orchard with russet hair and dimples all those years ago, whose mother treated you like her own; but he had grown since that uncomplicated beginning. How a broken collarbone led to a friendship, which ripened into an affection and concluded in bitter resentment, was unforeseeable at the time. You never guessed that the two of you would end up like this.    

“Gideon,” you breathed. “What are you doing here?”

The hungry, sweeping motion of his mouth against yours invaded your mind. In the blink of a moment like this, despite the current of the years that swept past and weathered away the discomforting, stony edges of the memory, you could relive the minutest details of your past with him: the sloppy tangle of tongue and teeth and the scratch of an adolescent mustache; the mopey, beseeching expression on his face, begging for more of you. A chill crept across your skin at the remembrance of his neediness and desperation, making it hard to look at him, shame rooted so deeply in you. 

He uttered your name in the same stunned tone, his mouth agape until he swallowed his alarm. “It’s been a long time,” he said, and his eyes, murky, silver, and cold—like a pond in winter—cut to the sagging roll of carpet in your arms. An unmistakable pair of boots stuck out. “And I see much has changed.” 

None of your muscles moved—but the weight of the deceased tired your arms and you ached to rest them. You slowly lowered the rug to the ground, your eyes never leaving one another’s.  

“This isn’t what you think it is.” 

A disbelieving scoff left him. “What I think it is,” he echoed. “I’m thinking that better not be who I think it is. I’m thinking ‘she went from breaking men’s hearts to stopping them altogether’,” his long legs carried him forward and your spine stiffened. His face came into the light. You shrank back. “Something tells me you don’t have one of Dutch Van der Linde’s boys wrapped up in there. See, I knew the Sheriff would be here tonight, and that’s his horse hitched there,” he jerked his thumb in the direction of the animal. “You have five seconds to produce the man I’m looking for alive and well or I’m taking you in.” 

You wished to heaven you could think of a way out of this. What vestige of freedom you could still secure was within your grasp and it made your teeth grit that the bitter waters of life would surge high once again at this crucial hour. It figured; the final wave for you to overcome came in the form of Gideon Taylor, the pouty boy who you had no remorse for jilting. Your fists clenched beside you and you lifted your head, standing tall, measuring and meeting the danger of his presence. 

Holding his stare unblinkingly, you pitched your voice low, words growing frost. “You should leave.” 

Though he had a gun and lasso on his hip and an inflated sense of superiority to empower him, Gideon hesitated. 

“I will, once you tell me where the Sheriff is.” 

His spurs jangled. He spoke to you cautiously, as if you were a skittish animal about to bolt for an impenetrable thicket, the flit of his eyes gauging your every move, and his hand rose out to you while he subtly reached beside him. 

Before you a narrow avenue of escape flickered, shrinking smaller and smaller like the last sliver of the moon in the dark of an eclipse. 

When lightning flashes, the precise amount of moments that pass between the initial burst of light and the thunder that follows measures the distance between the strike and the listener. A blink, a heartbeat, a slow breath. That was how much time you had to act, before the thunder came and the earth trembled. In that slow, blinking, beating instant, you knew how this would play out. 

When his gun began to clear leather your instincts kicked in, quick as a snap. You leapt backwards into the house, throwing the door shut. Fumbling with the bolt, the rusty metal bar slogged its way through the lock, making you cry out in frustration as you strained to jiggle it forward. The bolt slid home the instant Gideon’s shoulder rammed against the boards. 

Your teeth rattled at the battering of the frame. He charged against it repeatedly and your eyes, in darting about the room, snagged on a buffet table. Praying the old lock would hold, you rushed to push it in front of the door and the furniture groaned as you shoved it in place, only for Gideon’s attempts to break in to cease. 

“So, we’re doing this the hard way?” Gideon yelled through the door. Your heartbeat thumped in your ears and your face grew hot at the rushing of blood. You moved to extinguish all the lamps and candles, flooding the room in darkness and the lacy scent of candle smoke. His voice came again a moment later.

“Shit, what the hell did you do to him?”

The body. Beyond the threshold. He must have peeled back the rug, looked upon the Sheriff’s vacant eyes and felt his clay-cold cheeks. A leaden weight sunk into the pit of your stomach. There was no escaping what you did. But a small chance remained to evade capture. You could sneak through the back window and mount Willa quietly, get a head start before Gideon gave chase. You could lose him in the woods near Lady Face Falls and follow the water north—

A bullet crashed through the window. You dropped to the floor. Moving forward, you crawled towards the bedroom, covering your head with your hands whenever glass shattered and chunks of wood flew. Along the way your foot slipped through a sludge of the Sheriff’s vomit and your knee banged against the wood. You bit your cheek so as not to cry out in disgust and pain and shuffled slimily onward by the heels of your hands.

Gideon fired off six shots in total before you made it safely to the other room. Quietly, tortuously, you unlatched the window and pulled it up by the handles in increments to prevent any sound while outside Gideon cursed to reload his weapon faster. You winced as it gave a squeak, but the noise was muffled by the breaking of a window in the front room. A heavy stone’s thump followed after. 

Gideon called out in the dark. “Are you gonna come willingly or do I have to shoot you? There’s nowhere to go!” 

The night air beckoned. Without another thought you swung a leg over the sill and ducked out, making a break for Willa. Behind the cottage, you slid down a slippery bank of pine needles until you reached your moonlit mare, grasping the smooth horn of the saddle and clambering astride to get a move on.

“Ya!” With a kick to her flank, Willa gave a jolt and a toss of her head before starting forward. Moments. You had bought yourself moments to escape, merely. Snatching up the reins, you seated yourself properly and urged Willa through the grove of trees, hunching low to dodge the lash of branches. 

She moved with a swift determination beneath you. With hooves heavy upon the earth, she sensed your urgency. Twigs snapped and spears of moonlight shot through the pine canopy as you wove through a wide belt of trees, your breath coming hard and fogging in the air. 

The lane of a meadow came into view and you burst through the tree line, into the moon-bright open. Willa vaulted over a fallen log and landed in the muddy grasses, your rear hitting the saddle hard while pellets of ice flecked your cheeks as she scudded over a sheaf of unmelted snow.  

“Go, go, go!” Crying out, you nudged her flank again, and Willa obeyed, breathing hard. The prospect of speed and gaining distance from your pursuer outweighed the risk of exposure, riding in the open like this. Her pace transcended into a gallop. You clung tight, blinking against the cold air as it pricked your eyes. The thunder of her feet matched the beat of your heart and the landscape became a blur of stubby trees and boulders smudging past you. In the wind she made Willa’s mane flowed, and you trusted her completely to deliver you from danger. 

A gun fired off in the distance. You were forced to let up, arming yourself with your father’s hunting rifle, the stock firm against your shoulder as you peered down the sight and readied your aim. A quarter of a mile off a glint of moving light came from a lantern, and it struck your heart with a pang to do it—to fix your sights on the pulse of it and fire with violent intent. The sound split through the valley. The empty cartridge ejected. 

Astride his horse, Gideon shouted as it reared up. Your round pierced the dome of his upheld lantern and sent glass and kerosene raining. In the briefly purchased interval you prompted Willa onwards, back into the ponderosas that environed the open meadow and the darkness their bristling boughs afforded before he and his horse finished screaming. 

The farther into the woods you ventured the thicker the trees crept in, until you were forced to a walk. Into the silence of the night you listened, straining for any sound of pursuit. Nothing, only the cold shadows, dim moonlight, and scaly bark of pines passing by your knees. You propped the rifle against your thigh and loaded another brass round into the breech before hopping down from your mount. If the necessity rose again, it would be easier to aim on solid ground rather than swiveling on horseback. 

Pine cones and fallen twigs scattered at your step, and you took care to prowl lightly through the snowmelt. You held Willa’s bridle in one hand, her bit jingling, and led her until the murmur of flowing water pricked your ears. Miserable cold began to set in. At every rustle and riffle of leaf and breeze your eyes snapped to each corner of the woodland on high alert. More than anything, you wished for the warmth of your hearth—to be nestled in your favorite chair like any other evening spent in the solitude of your home. Not gripping a loaded gun in a dark forest, heart racing for your life. 

But at home, you remembered, lay the body of a dead man. To return to such a place was to hold to your ear a shell from the sea of the past, filling you with the hollow echo of what once was and no longer is. Those chapters from before fluttered away—as the seasons did. 

The soil turned mossy and spongy from the lush influence of the river, with trilliums springing up between tree roots and felled, sun-bleached logs. You let Willa walk on ahead, and the music of the water dampened the far-off sounds. Your breath came out slowly as you surveyed the wooded area behind you. 

How smart had Gideon grown in the past few years? Could he track you, undetected? Was he stalking you through the woods, with the patience and guile of a hunter?  In truth, you had no idea what he was capable of, and it made your fingers twitch towards the trigger. Then again, what were you? 

The treetops stirred. A gale whistled down from the mountains, hauntingly cold, and spliced through your jacket, meanwhile the starlight twinkled on. The moonlight turned the river iridescent. Willa drank her fill of water and you settled back into the saddle to trudge downriver. Gideon would lose the tracks you had no time to cover once he reached the stream, but could easily piece together your route. You stowed your rifle and formed a grip over the reins, knuckles over, and moved to fit your boots into the stirrups to give Willa a kick. 

You wondered how you could not have heard it: the low, whisking sound of a twirling lasso. By the time it dropped around your shoulders, it was too late. With a violent lurch you were dragged backwards from your horse into the numbing, snow-fed water. Hard and unforgiving rocks bashed into the side of your face as you slammed into the streambed, the taste of coins flooding your mouth as your teeth cut through your lip and tongue. You wrestled with the unyielding hold of the rope amidst the water flowing around you, the shock of which soaked ice in your blood instantly. Black flowers blossomed behind your eyes. A hard yank snagged the air from your lungs and pulled you free from the chaos of the current. 

Coughing, spluttering, blinking and gasping, twigs and gravel scraped your palms and before you could brace your hands against the silt someone else’s pinned them together and pushed you on your stomach. 

“You’re not gettin’ away now,'' a voice hissed. You remembered those hands on you years before, stronger since, and contempt flamed up in you, compelling the fight in your limbs to kick and scramble beneath Gideon’s hold. 

“Quit makin’ this harder for me than it already is!” he snapped. With force, he wrapped the rope around your wrists in a tight bind. All that was left to fight him with was your ankles and you thrashed your knees to shake him off, but the solid weight of him prevailed. 

“No,” you groaned, and it took all of your strength to. The rope bound your feet together, and a stupor sludged your limbs from the shock of the cold water. You were flipped onto your back, flinching at a face you were loath to look into. Gideon shook you by the shoulders and your eyes rolled.

“Tell me why! Why did you kill the Sheriff?!” 

The river still roared in your ears. Water dripped down your neck, bunched in your lashes. You thought they might turn into icicles, like the great big ones that hung from the cottage roof in the wintertime. Senses dulled and dazed, you could hardly see from the blur of tears and cold, but you caught the echo of his question, and the vial of indignation within you overflowed past the chatter of your teeth and the shivering of your limbs, unable to contain the seething words any longer. 

“You have no idea–” a cough interrupted your speech. “What kind of man you are defending.” 

Blood from the cut inside your lip spattered onto his face and he only blinked as if it were water. His astonishment was beyond expression. By the moonlight, the dark of his eyes narrowed, and you wormed beneath his glaring sneer. 

“He was a great man. Everyone saw the good he did. But you–” he yanked you up from the rocky bed by the elbow, your head lolling. “You were all he talked about. And I tried to warn him about you! You know what he did? He just laughed at me and said I wasn’t man enough to handle you.”

His statement stunned you into silence. Upright, your senses were slow to sharpen with the fog accumulating in your head. The idea of the Sheriff boasting about you to his fellow men sickened you more than the memory of his touch almost. But you had no time to harbor the thought before Gideon dragged you to his mount like a lamb to slaughter. 

Within the narrow, binding circle in which your ankles could shuffle you were pushed along, stumbling over pinecones and driftwood. You were too cold and cut up by the rocks to fight him, but you dug in your heels as you approached the tan horse’s flank, the gelding’s tail twitching. 

You rolled your shoulder as he shoved you harshly forward by the center of your back and searched for your horse desperately. Willa had taken off during scuffle, trotting down the opposite side of the riverbank. You whistled for her, and her head swung in your direction.

Gideon lost what little patience he had and pulled you up by your underarm. “Do I need to gag you as well?” You braced your arm against his horse’s side to keep your footing. “I think I should, since you’ll be savin’ your confession for the judge.”  

“Gideon, stop. Please,” you wheezed. “There was a wrong done to me.” You hoped the pain in your voice would make him pause and see the misery in your eyes, think about the weight behind your words. Maybe he would remember the girl you used to be, and recognize that she was gone, wondering what took the light from her heart. A minnow of doubt darted across his face and his grip nearly faltered, until the breeze blew cold and snuffed any flame of apprehension sparking inside him.

“And you call what you did makin’ it right? Killing a man is against the law,” he elucidated. His spit sprayed across your cheek and you flinched. “But I’ve heard all that I have an ear for. You’re spendin’ the night in a cell.” 

Gideon crouched and lifted you from around the legs, hefting you onto your stomach over the horse’s rump. Blood rushed to your head as your weight gravitated to your abdomen and your muscles strained to support it. The steed’s legs shifted underneath you and you lifted your head with a painful effort to speak your mind as he rounded the horse. 

“The law doesn’t tell you what’s right and what’s wrong; it only says there’s a price to be paid for certain actions,” you snapped. Disdain pulsed through your veins, your blood humming with contempt. 

“Yeah?” Gideon’s feet slotted into the stirrups and he gave a kick, gripping the reins and flicking them to the right. “And you are gonna pay—with your life. What’s that tell you?” 

You balled your fists and squirmed, the weave of the rope digging into your wrists. Gideon started forward, roughly, back into the darkened forest. Your chin knocked against the horse’s hide and you held your head up again. “Men like the Sheriff bend the law in their favor whenever it suits them to get what they want and never pay that price. The law doesn’t protect those beneath it.” 

“Spoken like a true degenerate.” He tossed you a look over his shoulder and scoffed. “God, if my mother could see you now.” At the memory of Mrs. Taylor and her old warmth towards you, you flamed up again, voice coming out in a growl. 

“Oh, you don’t have room in your head for more than one idea!”

“I know better than to listen to this. I know you. A man’s heart is your joy to play with–” 

“And it’s your joy to play the victim! Even now you can’t fathom why I despised you. You filled me with shame. Men like you and the Sheriff, all you care about is what I can give you. My heart, my feelings, they don’t matter. In the face of your desires they mean nothing. They don’t so much as cross your mind. The Sheriff took advantage of me and he would do it without a second thought over and over again unless I stopped it!”

“Shame?” Gideon turned back to you. The cold pinked the tips of his ear and nose, his knuckles also red from their place on the bridle. He went quiet for a moment before going on, the scenery passing by vaguely in shadows and shafts of moonlight. Your sternum ached at the pressure accrued from resting on it, and every time your head bounced along with the rhythm of the horse you glimpsed your bound feet on the other side. 

He spoke softer this time. “You must not remember how sweet I was on you when we were together. But the way you turned so sour so suddenly, when I could’ve sworn you liked me just as much…it made my head spin more than anythin’. I didn’t know what I did wrong.” 

The confession strummed a somber chord within you, twisting your expression grimly. You stepped out of the present, back into the years, while Gideon emerged from the cover of the woods and picked his way onto a pale ribbon of trail that wriggled ahead like a snake. A sign post at the fork heralded the one mile marker to the main road into town, painted white and chipping.

“We were so young. We were children, Gideon. It wasn’t love.” 

It struck you that, at the age you spoke of, you did not know how to say no—the word not being something girls were taught. What you knew of women’s’ relationships with men was the expected role they fulfilled: giving. Giving affection, pleasure, children, companionship. In theory the rationale was not so terrible. Love was a dream. To be in love was everything. But your tryst with Gideon acquainted you with a breed of men who were used to taking what women were expected to give. Your kiss, your touch, your embrace and your body, these were all special to you; a gift to be bestowed, the chance to do so reveled. Not things you were expected to surrender to the first boy who looked at you lustfully, unconcerned with your true, inner value. You wished you knew that then. 

The train of thought led you, for a glimmer of a second, to believe you could have stopped the worse act inflicted upon you by the hands of the Sheriff. As quick as it came it died. He would have found a way to get what he wanted, regardless of pleas, or strength, or precognition. You were not to blame. Bad people would always exist in the world and take advantage of others, and it was no fault of yours. 

Gideon shook his head, sighed, and muttered to himself. Pivoting, he looked down on you with a pinched mouth, his eyes hidden in the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. “Yeah, well. We still knew what we were doing.” The cutting edge of his words dismissed you and he spurred his horse into a faster trot. 

 I think you’re just ashamed and don’t know how to admit that you liked it. A ghost whispered. The soft choke of his death rattle gripped your memory and you flinched from it.

The hardheaded hold Gideon held on his grievances made your teeth clench. If only the perfect string of words existed to compel him to release them, you would draw the strands from the air, thread them together into a net, and cast their influence over his mind to pluck his heartstrings and make him remember the boy he once was; the one who looked upon you so fondly. But the notion came to a halt at that, for was he ever a boy capable of thinking beyond his own wishes, considering the thoughts of others? 

“You’re so selfish. You’ll never change,” you found yourself saying without thinking. But he did not catch your words, and you spoke up as your despisal surged anew. “Maybe you knew what you were doing when you groped me, and ground yourself against me, and kissed me slovenly, but I didn’t. Because maybe you’ve forgotten, but I just sat there. You only ever cared about making yourself happy.” 

He scoffed. “As much as I know you’d like to think it is, this isn’t about what happened between us. I stopped thinking about you in that way a long time ago, along with asking myself why. What you offered—” Gideon cut a withering look to your frame and grunted. “Wasn’t that special. There’s plenty of other girls out there. I’m just glad I didn’t end up in a goddamn carpet.” 

Further and further away your hope slipped. Your heartbeat pounded in your head, making it throb and ache as you hung over the horse’s side and your feet grew numb. Inevitably, water pricked your eyes. A chill breeze brushed past your nose and snot began to dribble from the end of it while your vision blurred and your voice broke.

“There is no getting through to you, is there?” 

In reply, Gideon only spurred his horse to trudge an incline in the road and leaned back in the saddle, steering away from the deeper patches of snow. A knot formed in your throat as you choked down useless tears. He owed you nothing. His nature was not understanding, or reflective, or critical of himself. It was self-righteous and vindictive. The conviction rested in his eyes as unyielding as the laws of justice. An ounce of sympathy from him was as likely as drawing blood from a stone.

Bitterly, your head fell, and you sucked your quivering, gashed lip. One last time, you tried to implore him. One last time, you sought your freedom, because it was the only thing you had left to lose. 

“You can let me go. I’ll never come back here! Whatever you’re trying to prove, you don’t have to–” 

And he slapped you across the face to shut you up. 

The strike stung like nettles and your ears rang. Shrinking away, your mind blanking with static and noise and blinding white despair, fresh blood spilled from your lips from the slap and your trembling body remembered how cold your dip in the river had been. Worse was the wind, billowing down from across the distant mountain peaks, and the shivers set in deep. The trot of the horse went on, up a hill and off the trail through the terrain once more.

In silence, in anguish, in defeat, you wept. Over the side of a horse, bound, slapped, and subdued, you wept and embraced the taste of salt. For your lost girlhood. For the grandmother who raised you and the mother who did not have the chance. For your life, for the ruination of your dreams, from the unfairness of it all. Was this the harvest of all that had been planted for you? Bone-weary, you slumped against the animal’s hide and let yourself rock with each step. If only sleep could take you. You were ready for all of this to be over, to be a dream you could wake from in a sweat and try your best to forget. Bleeding and shivering, you longingly ached for something to fetch you out of your present existence, and lead you upwards and onwards, but you had no heart left for anything. 

Glancing up at the sky, a bank of clouds enveloped the moon. Over wood, over water, the flood of its silver radiance receded, the ensuing darkness weaving a mystery in every drop of dew and creaking branch. An owl hooted, but its mate did not answer. The stars did not have any either as you searched for them.

The tall trees rustled, violently unsure, and the night breeze carried a sickly sweet scent in its passing, as if stirring something hidden under rotting leaves. As Gideon passed beneath them, the ragged shadows cast from the spruces closed in, and in the gloom an old stone rose from the earth like a grave. It may as well have been your own. Darkened by the color of moss and damp, the granite ledge presided over the forest, sundered by some glacial movement from the mountains eons ago while death and rebirth churned in the woods all around. 

Unable to face what was to come, you turned your head. But in so doing, you caught sight of Willa trailing you from a short distance, the spot of white on her forehead unmistakable, and your tears subsided. Your heart glowed and lifted; a wobbly smile dimpling your cheeks. Graceful and poised, steadfast and resilient, she trotted in the passing shadows like she was of its fabric, her coat the same shifting shades of moonlight while she moved like a river, the sinews of her forearms and chest a changeful, inky black above her socks of white. Her hooves were too soft to hear in the spongy dirt. 

Willa’s softly brown and gleaming eyes held a star in them. Every journey you embarked on, she was beside you. She carried your bushels of burdock root and feverfew and fireweed back to your cottage without complaint, conveying you home through the forests and switchbacks countless times, and in turn you took care of her since the day your grandmother bought her from the livery.

The events which occurred in the past day loosened your foothold on your sense of self. But in that moment, pondering Willa, it came back to you. You remembered who you were, and what you believed you were meant to be. A girl brought up to respect the Earth and revere it, who kept hope in her heart always, and dreamed that she could be loved. With crystalline clarity, your mind broke free from its chains and a wind stirred a flame back to life inside of you.

From a drained well of will, you gathered your strength, braced yourself for another struggle and one last trial of endurance. While you raced to think of a way to cut your binds, Gideon’s head snapped around, and you stopped. His revolver was drawn in a flash and his horse whinnied and raked its hooves. He fixed his eyes on the tree line and you strained for any telltale sound while his gelding started to canter to the side uneasily. Something spooked it.                                

“What is it?” you hissed. He ignored you.

A twig snapped close by. “Who goes there?” he called out. Not far off, a ribbon of campfire smoke wove up into the night air and you squinted at the shadows.

Gideon tugged the reins hard to the left and clicked his spurs, venturing to investigate and evade the open clearing. Your head joggled with the movement and you grunted. A patch of ground ahead, though sideways from your point of view, appeared odd, misshapen, the thick carpet of pine needles too obvious to be natural. But Gideon was not watching his tread and aimed his horse’s walk right over it.

A dire creak made you freeze.

“Look out!”

It was too late.

A shrieking snap, and next, the wind was in your ear as the earth gave out from beneath. With a cry, the horse stumbled and reared and everything went upside down. Your heart seized during a timeless, weightless, airless second as a lattice of concealed logs collapsed beneath the load of Gideon and his horse, and you all fell in an outcry.

The sap and pine scent of fresh wood rushed up your nose as it cracked all around you. Unable to reach out for anything or protect your face, the sharp edges of branches snagged at your clothes and stabbed at your sides, needles scraping and stinging your skin. When the slamming force of the ground ended it all, a spike of wood tore a scream from you as it impaled your thigh.

The tumult fizzled to a static in your ears. You roiled on the dirt floor of the manmade pit, curling into yourself like a pill bug at the hot, pulsing throbs of pain in your leg surrounding the intrusion. You cried out at the unbearable and debilitating burning shooting throughout your body. Throat raw, vision white, breath sawing raggedly, your senses came clear enough for half a moment to observe Gideon, still astride his hysterical animal, gripping the bridle and urging the horse out of the pit. He kicked it harshly to vault over the rim back to solid ground.

He spared you one glance before riding off, and left you.

Tears stung your eyes and you wailed out your pain freely. Scratching at the rope around your wrists was useless, your nails only drew blood. All over, your body ached with bruises and fatigue, and it depleted all of your strength to focus on your breathing alone. Frustration and pain tangled in your chest like a mass of snakes, warring each other, and all you could to do alleviate the pain was roll onto your uninjured side. Your leg gushed like an oil-well.

Once everything started to fade, time ceased mattering, and you slipped in and out of consciousness. You blearily wondered why you were still fighting. A cold sweat chilled your neck and your chest palpitated unbearably.

Sounds from afar, beyond the pit, invaded your ears. There were hoof beats. The shouts of more riders, pursuing Gideon most likely. He would be rounding up what was left of the Sheriff’s posse, going after this gang that has been troubling this valley the past few days. No doubt this pit was dug by them, a trap for someone who got too close to where they were camped out. The whole town would be in a frenzy, meanwhile you...fading, languishing in the dirt…no one would find you in time…

With a quavering sigh, you began to let go. There was only so much your body could take; it would so much easier to sink into this grave than crawl your way out. To breathe became like listening to a lake lap a shore with its waves, growing fainter, quieter, and more still.

The moonlight was serene, and the coolness of this cavity of earth was welcome. Tree roots poked from the stratified layers of dirt, worms and centipedes clinging to the moisture therein. Above, a scuff of needles and a snort announced the presence of your most trusted friend.

Willa whickered, eyes finding your curled form in the pit. She paced around the edges. What remained of your hope ached. Through a glaze of tears you tried to speak, to soothe her, but no sound broke from you other than a whimper. But you were not alone. Never alone…in these woods…these mountains…with these familiar stars above…until unknown, male voices dispelled the cloud hovering over your thoughts.

“I’m telling you, I heard something. Someone in pain.”

Footsteps, a pair of them. You fought to stay awake, aware, but your willpower was slipping like the final sands through the waist of an hourglass.

“It’s probably another one of them law boys,” someone grumbled. “Maybe we caught one.”

“As soon as Dutch gets back we need to skip town without kissin’ the mayor goodbye.”

“You’re telling me. We should’ve left after that business last night.”

A haze began to drift over you again, sweeping you under the blessed numbness unconsciousness promised. Your eyelids were so, so heavy.

Willa nickered, the white of her eyes showing as the pair of men presumably approached her.

“Whoa, easy there.” One of the men regarded her, gently shushing and calming her in a matter of moments. In a way only you could—

“Look.”

“It’s a girl. Tied up like a steer.”

A gun being holstered, a thump of feet, and you were no longer alone. A shadow passed over the moonlight on your face. It was too dark to see, to know if you were about to be saved or damned by whoever was crouching over you. Dimly, you hoped you looked too powerless and broken to be mistreated.

“Pl—please,” your weak words tasted of copper. The apricot glow of a lantern warmed your face, and you looked up into a pair of eyes you trusted instinctively.

“What happened here?” The man who asked you this was older, with graying blond hair swept beside his temples. You had never seen him before. He had deep lines beside his shrewd eyes and his mouth was grim, but a kindness of understanding softened his countenance. It had been such a long time since any sincere compassion had looked at you through eyes other than your grandmother’s.

“Deputy—was bringing me in—left me here—“a spasm of pain interrupted your slurred speech. Wincing, you gestured to your thigh with your chin, seeing the pool of red darkening your pant leg for the first time. ���Can’t move.”

The older man’s companion joined him in the light of his lantern. He was younger; tall and well-built, with a gun belt slung across his hips replete with ammunition, the brass of his bullets shining. A satchel hung from his side and he unsheathed a hunting knife attached to his belt. The quick gleam of it filled you with uncertainty.

“Easy, miss,” he raised his hands. “We don’t mean you any harm. I’m just gonna cut you free. Hold still.”

In a few saws of the blade the rope loosened its pitiless hold over your limbs; the relief of clutching your wound with your own hands was enough to make you sob. The men grew quiet, considering your condition. All of the blood was draining from your head, like it was all racing to escape out of your leg. The chunk of wood was buried in it, likely holding back a gushing torrent of crimson like the river miles and hours back. You wanted nothing more than to yank it out. It had not gone all the way through.

“We need to take her to a doctor,” the older man asserted, and his companion made a noise of protest. “I don’t know if Susan and Bessie can patch this up.”

“No—“ you cut him off, as forcefully as you could. “I can’t—I can’t go back there,” your breath began to labor and dizziness crept in as you moved to sit with your back against the packed dirt wall of the pit. “They’re gonna—gonna hang me, for killing that awful man.”

Clutching the wound, the blood oozed out warmly between the webs of your fingers, the dark, iron scent of it pungent in your nostrils. Air hissed out sharply between your teeth.

The two men looked to each other in mute discussion.

It left you in a sad whisper: “You should just leave me here.”

“We’ll help you.”

“We will?”

“Arthur.”

The fading began in earnest. You were incapable of protesting what came next. A pair of hands grasped your elbows, guiding you to your feet, which only stumbled because there was no strength left in your legs. Boneless, a broad chest caught you, your head lolling in the pillow of an arm, your nose grazing the fur of a jacket, and you burrowed into the scent of smoke and forest with a groan.

“We need to get back.” The lantern flame was doused, and the arms surrounding you lifted you in their hold. Your lashes fluttered to catch a glimpse of him, the man who held you, but his hat cast a shadow over his gaze and the night around him was dark with blue.

“You’ll be safe with Arthur, miss,” a voice said, but you were far away, lost to memories and hollow dreams. They dragged you down deep with pictures of bluebells in a water puddle, of lightning flashes through a curtain, of useless wrists beside you.

Your last awareness was of a sky made of woods and branches, with all of its stars perishing.

[mareislandfoundation]

A Legacy

It is in the heart of the first United States naval base on the Pacific Ocean and it stands on the same foundation as the original commandant’s mansion. The first mansion was the home of one of the most famous naval officers in US history, Admiral David Glasgow Farragut, and it was destroyed in the Mare Island earthquake of 1898. Today’s mansion still stands on that original foundation, but much has changed from the days when that first mansion was constructed in the 1850’s. The mansion has transitioned from outdoor to indoor plumbing, oil lamps to electric lighting, carriage houses to garages etc. Of course, most of those changes were the result of the labors of public works employees or contractors, but the 10,340 bricks that constitute the walkways that meander through the spacious gardens were the work of one man who happened to command the naval base.

Vice Admiral Lowry was a man of small stature, but he was also a highly decorated naval officer who saw service in both World Wars. He was awarded the Navy Cross for extraordinary heroism and distinguished service as Commanding Officer of the Heavy Cruiser USS Minneapolis (CA-36), during operations at the battle of the Coral Sea only 5 months after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Following that attack Japanese forces had been rolling nearly unopposed across the Pacific. Then on 7 and 8 May 1942 his ship inflicted considerable damage on the Japanese and rendered vital protection to the US aircraft carrier USS Lexington to which it was assigned. The Battle of the Coral Sea was important as it was the first pure carrier-versus-carrier battle in history as neither surface fleet sighted the other. Though a draw, it was an important turning point in the war in the Pacific because, for the first time, the Allies had stopped the Japanese advance and lines of communication to Australia and New Zealand were kept open.

Admiral Lowry later commanded the invasions on the other side of the world at Salerno and Anzio (Italy). Lowry's Task Force 81 contained over 250 combat-loaded vessels and amphibious assault craft of all sizes and descriptions. Admiral Lowry also commanded the 74 vessels of Task Force X-Ray, assigned to see American forces safely ashore and to support their beachhead operations at Anzio. With the war ended, Admiral Lowry was soon put in command of Mare Island Naval Shipyard where he indulged one of his great passions, gardening. Admiral Lowry commanded Mare Island for 2 ½ years from 1947 to 1950 and during that time he constructed all the brick pathways that interlace the gardens behind the mansion.

Dennis Kelly

[sammsmith]

Attar Perfume vs. Modern Fragrances: What’s the Difference?

In the world of fragrances, there is a growing interest in attar perfumes, especially among those looking for a more natural, long-lasting, and unique scent experience. But with the wide availability of modern fragrances—commercial perfumes, eau de toilettes, and colognes—many fragrance enthusiasts find themselves wondering: What exactly sets attar perfumes apart from their more contemporary counterparts? In this article, we will explore the differences between attar perfumes and modern fragrances, helping you understand which one might be the best fit for your personal style and needs. At Scent Your Soul, we offer a curated collection of premium attars that bring the richness and tradition of this ancient perfumery art into modern living.

What Are Attar Perfumes?

Attar perfumes, also known as ittars, are a type of natural, alcohol-free fragrance derived from plants, flowers, herbs, and spices. Unlike modern perfumes that often contain synthetic chemicals, alcohol, and water as their base, attars are made using essential oils extracted from plants through steam distillation or other traditional methods. This oil-based fragrance is highly concentrated, which makes it last longer on the skin and provide a deeper, more complex scent profile.

The history of attar perfume dates back thousands of years, particularly in the Middle East, India, and Asia, where attars were used for spiritual purposes, personal care, and cultural rituals. Over time, attars have gained global recognition for their richness, authenticity, and connection to nature.

Modern Fragrances: The Commercial Revolution

Modern fragrances, on the other hand, are typically alcohol-based perfumes designed to offer an appealing scent while being more accessible and easily mass-produced. These fragrances are created using a blend of natural and synthetic materials, with alcohol acting as the primary carrier for the fragrance oils. Alcohol serves as a solvent, allowing the perfume to evaporate quickly upon application and release its scent into the air.

Modern perfumes are generally divided into several categories, including Eau de Parfum (EDP), Eau de Toilette (EDT), and Eau de Cologne (EDC), each with varying concentrations of fragrance oils and alcohol. The higher the concentration of fragrance oils, the longer the scent lasts. However, even the most potent modern fragrances tend to be less long-lasting than their attar counterparts due to the volatility of alcohol.

Key Differences Between Attar Perfumes and Modern Fragrances

While both attar perfumes and modern fragrances serve the same primary purpose—creating a pleasing and long-lasting scent—there are several important differences between the two that are worth exploring. Let’s take a closer look at these distinctions.

1. Ingredients: Natural vs. Synthetic

One of the most significant differences between attar perfumes and modern fragrances lies in their ingredients. Attar perfumes are made entirely from natural materials, with oils extracted from flowers, herbs, and other plant-based ingredients. These oils are often pure, and the distillation process preserves the integrity of the plant’s aroma.

In contrast, modern fragrances often contain both natural and synthetic ingredients. While some high-end perfumes use natural extracts, many commercial fragrances rely heavily on synthetic compounds to mimic the smells of natural oils. These synthetic ingredients are designed to create specific scents or enhance longevity, but they can lack the depth and authenticity of natural attar fragrances.

For those seeking a more natural and eco-friendly fragrance experience, attar perfumes are the clear choice.

2. Longevity: Long-Lasting vs. Shorter Wear

One of the key advantages of attar perfumes is their longevity. Because they are oil-based, attars are much more concentrated than modern fragrances, meaning they have a much longer wear time on the skin. A single application of an attar can last for 8 to 12 hours or more, depending on the scent and how it interacts with your skin chemistry.

On the other hand, modern perfumes, especially those with a higher concentration of alcohol, tend to evaporate more quickly. While Eau de Parfum and Eau de Toilette can last for several hours, they are generally not as long-lasting as attar perfumes. This makes attars an excellent choice for individuals looking for a fragrance that can carry them through an entire day or night without needing reapplication.

3. Scent Profile: Rich and Complex vs. Light and Airy

Attar perfumes tend to have a deeper, more complex scent profile. Due to the natural oils used in their creation, attars often evolve over time, with top, middle, and base notes developing gradually. These fragrances can reveal layers of scents, from floral or fruity top notes to more grounded, woody or musky base notes. The result is a rich, multi-dimensional fragrance that lingers on your skin in a sophisticated manner.

Modern fragrances, while also designed to be appealing, are typically lighter and more straightforward in their scent profiles. Synthetic ingredients can be engineered to produce specific fragrances more quickly, which is why modern perfumes are often simpler and more linear than attars. The complexity of an attar, with its natural ingredients and gradual scent development, appeals to those who appreciate a more nuanced fragrance experience.

4. Alcohol vs. Oil-Based Formulation

A major difference between attar perfumes and modern fragrances is their formulation. Modern perfumes are primarily alcohol-based, with fragrance oils dissolved in alcohol to create a fast-drying, easily dispersible scent. Alcohol can be harsh on the skin and may cause irritation, especially for those with sensitive skin.

Attar perfumes, however, are oil-based, making them gentler on the skin. The absence of alcohol means that attars don’t dry out the skin or cause any irritation. Additionally, the oil-based formula helps the fragrance stay on the skin longer, allowing you to enjoy the scent for an extended period without it fading quickly.

5. Environmental Impact: Sustainable vs. Mass-Produced

Attar perfumes are generally produced using sustainable and traditional methods, with many being handcrafted by artisans who take pride in creating high-quality, eco-friendly products. The ingredients used in attars are often sourced from local and ethical producers, making them a more sustainable choice compared to mass-produced commercial perfumes.

Modern perfumes, while available in a wide range of options, are often created using mass production techniques that may not always prioritize sustainability. The use of synthetic ingredients and the high demand for certain fragrance components can sometimes lead to environmental concerns, especially in the case of ingredients that require large-scale farming or industrial processes.

Which One Should You Choose?

The choice between attar perfumes and modern fragrances ultimately depends on your personal preferences and needs. If you’re looking for a natural, eco-friendly fragrance that lasts longer and offers a rich, evolving scent, attar perfumes may be the perfect option for you. They provide a unique, timeless fragrance experience that is deeply connected to nature.

On the other hand, if you prefer the convenience of easily accessible commercial perfumes with a lighter scent profile and a quicker dry-down, modern fragrances may suit you better.

Explore Premium Attars at Scent Your Soul

At Scent Your Soul, we specialize in premium attar perfumes that cater to a wide range of preferences. Our collection is crafted using only the finest natural ingredients, ensuring that every fragrance is not only long-lasting but also an authentic representation of traditional perfumery practices. Explore our range today and find the perfect attar perfume that resonates with your unique personality.

Conclusion

Both attar perfumes and modern fragrances have their own distinct appeal. Whether you’re drawn to the natural, long-lasting allure of attars or the convenience and simplicity of modern perfumes, each option has something to offer. Understanding the differences between these two types of fragrances will help you make a more informed decision and choose the fragrance that best suits your lifestyle and preferences.

[tahyal]

Hey girl! Any suggestions for stress spots in the hair? Whenever I get anxiety I get a sore spot in only one spot of my hair and I can’t stop picking it. I used to pull it out in that area but now I just rub it and try hard not to pull. I know the main thing would be to reduce stressors but any ideas on how I can get rid of that soreness and start growing that spot again?

Hi!

This is purely intuitive but you probably need a lot of nurturing, in all aspects! Id suggest trying ghee masks once a week, and perhaps getting a water filter. You can also add a few drops of rosemary essential oil into any carrier oil of your choice (I recommend jojoba, squalane or argan) it will help with the re-growth.

Internally, make sure you’re well nourished, eating every 3 to 4 hours a nice balance of fat, protein and carbs. Reduce screens before bed, let go of overthinking the past or the future (if you do so), de-clutter your environment, and try to sleep early! These are all things that can really reduce stress in your life, and therefore would help tremendously with anxiety.

Hope it helped 💖

[oilsaromaaz]

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[arcane-abomination]

This is a recipe for blessing oil I make for my home wards. It can be used to bless candles, statues, witches balls, witches bells, or anything you put in your home that promotes protection magick and happiness.

Ingredients

Carrier Oil - to hold and mix all the intention of the other ingredients.

Salt - to purify stale and stagnant energies as well as add an extra layer of protection

Whole Cloves - to promote protection from the physical realm. This means break ins, negative thoughts and energies from horrible neighbors, trespassers, destruction of property, etc.

Lavender - to promote protection from the metaphysical realm. It calms angry spirits, banishes them, banishes negative energies they send your way, dispelles baneful work or other unwanted magick sent your way.

Crushed Orange Peels - These are present to bring in happiness, love, peace of mind, and good health, in place of fear, sadness, anger, and paranoia.

The Recipe & Ritual

I start off my telling each ingredient exactly what they will be doing. It’s very important to do this. Then I mix them into the carrier oil one by one. You can mix them altogether in a separate bowl first if you like and bless them that way. Also don’t be afraid to crush them into powder if you feel it will work better. I leave my cloves whole but my orange peels are very dry and brittle so I crush them into powder to better disperse them throughout the oil.

I place it all in a bowl or container and set it on a plate. I surround the container with uncooked white rice for a circle of pure clean energy that helps the energies in the oil to mix freely without the interference of outside energies coming in that I haven’t allowed.

Once that is finished I place the whole thing in the window sill and call on the dark moon to bless the mixture and add additional charge to the magick. Then I leave it there all night. The final step is the next morning where I drain the excess ingredients and place the oil in its respective jar and store it in a dry place.

[doseofnaturals]

Using Essential Oils to Enhance Hotel Sleep Experiences

Creating a memorable hotel experience goes beyond comfortable beds and room service. The ambiance, including the fragrance, plays a significant role in making guests feel relaxed and rejuvenated. Integrating essential oils and Carrier oils into your hotel setup can transform the sleep environment, helping guests unwind and enjoy restful nights.

In this blog, we’ll explore how the best essential oils can be used to elevate your guests' sleep experiences.

 The Power of Aromatherapy in Hospitality

Aromatherapy is the use of natural plant aromatics in the promotion of health and well-being which is fast becoming the focus of accommodations. There are many types of oils, that are essential for aromatherapy:  which offer a long-lasting, firm scent – suitable for setting up an atmosphere of opulence.

Hotels using these essential oils improve the customers’ perception of their rooms and make sure that their customers never forget their stay thus ensuring that they come back for more.

 Best Essential Oils for Better Sleep

 Here are some popular essential oils that are perfect for promoting relaxation and sleep:

 1. Lavender Oil

Lavender is one of the most popular essential oils for promoting relaxation and sleep. Its calming aroma helps reduce anxiety, lower heart rate, and create a tranquil environment

 2. Chamomile Oil

Chamomile is one of the mildest herbs and is perfect for setting a peaceful mood because of its insolvent sleep-inducing properties.

It is especially recommended to use Chamomile Oil when you want to relax.

3. Sandalwood Oil

This earthy oil has grounding properties that are perfect for achieving restorative sleep.

 4. Bergamot Oil

A citrusy oil that balances emotions and reduces anxiety, making it a great choice for unwinding after a long day.

 How to Use Essential Oils & Carrier Oils in Hotels

 ●     Diffusers in Guest Rooms

Place essential oil diffusers in rooms to spread calming scents. Guests will appreciate the personalized touch that helps them relax

●     Pillow Mists

Leave sachets of lavender or chamomile sprays for pillows in each room for customers to use. It will also help them a lot to have a better quality of sleep than they say at night

●     Spa Kits and Bath Products

You can include essential oils in your spa packages, and bath or massage oils for the body, mind, and soul therapy

●     Scenting Systems

Install scenting systems in the HVAC (heating, ventilation, and air conditioning) systems to maintain a consistent, inviting aroma throughout common areas like lobbies and hallways.

Why Hotels Should Invest in High-Quality Oils

When choosing essential oils and carrier oils, quality should never be compromised. Here’s why

●     Guest Satisfaction: High-quality oils ensure the scents are safe, non-irritating, and effective

●     Sustainability: Go for organic, eco-friendly essential oils to align with your sustainability goals

●     Branding: Signature scents help create a unique brand identity, making your hotel stand out in the market.

Conclusion

Adding these scents to the hotel settings is an easy way yet one that can make a big difference to the guests. Whether used as diffusers, pillow sprays, or in fancy spa kits, such additions may help to establish a quiet ambiance that guests will not easily forget.

Using good essential oils will turn the atmosphere in your hotel into welcoming and relaxing, thus boosting the rating with satisfied and returning clients. Ready to create unforgettable sleep experiences for your guests? 

Shop now from Dose of Naturals.

[digiaarnav]

Aarnav Global Exports is a leading bulk fenugreek oil wholesale supplier, offering 100% pure, high-quality fenugreek oil to meet your business needs. Ideal for health, beauty, and wellness products, our eco-friendly sourcing ensures that all natural benefits are preserved. Rely on us for consistent, fast delivery and superior service, making us your preferred supplier of premium carrier oils globally.

[nailandskincareadvise]

How to Repair a Damaged Nail Bed at Home Naturally

A damaged nail bed can be painful and unsightly, whether it's caused by an injury, nail-biting, or a fungal infection. Fortunately, there are natural remedies you can use at home to help repair and restore your nail bed to its healthy state. In this blog post, we’ll explore effective natural treatments, preventive measures, and tips for caring for your nails during the healing process.

What is Nail Bed Damage?

The nail bed is the skin beneath the nail plate. When this area is injured, it can lead to issues such as lifting of the nail, discoloration, and even loss of the nail in severe cases. Common causes of nail bed damage include:

Trauma: Dropping something heavy on your nail or accidentally slamming your finger in a door can cause significant damage.

Nail Biting: Chronic nail-biting can weaken the nail bed and lead to infections.

Fungal Infections: Fungal infections can cause the nail to separate from the nail bed, leading to damage.

Aggressive Manicures: Over-filing or cutting the cuticles too deeply can harm the nail bed.

Natural Remedies for Repairing a Damaged Nail Bed

Learn how to repair a damaged nail bed at home naturally using natural remedies like aloe vera, coconut oil, and vitamin E for healthy, strong nails.

1. Aloe Vera Gel

Why It Works: Aloe vera is known for its soothing and healing properties. It helps reduce inflammation and promotes skin regeneration, making it ideal for treating damaged nail beds.

How to Use:

Apply a small amount of pure aloe vera gel directly to the affected area.

Gently massage it into the nail bed.

Leave it on for 20-30 minutes before rinsing off with lukewarm water.

Repeat twice daily for best results.

2. Coconut Oil

Why It Works: Coconut oil is rich in fatty acids that moisturize and protect the nail bed. It also has antifungal properties, which can help prevent infections.

How to Use:

Warm a small amount of coconut oil in your hands.

Massage the oil into the nail bed and surrounding skin.

Leave it on overnight and wash it off in the morning.

Use daily to promote healing.

3. Vitamin E Oil

Why It Works: Vitamin E is a powerful antioxidant that aids in skin repair and protects against further damage. It helps nourish the nail bed and improve the overall health of your nails.

How to Use:

Pierce a vitamin E capsule and squeeze the oil onto the damaged nail bed.

Gently massage the oil into the area.

Allow it to absorb fully before covering the nail with a breathable bandage.

Apply once daily for optimal results.

4. Olive Oil and Lemon Juice Soak

Why It Works: Olive oil deeply moisturizes the nail bed, while lemon juice, rich in vitamin C, helps strengthen nails and fight off potential infections.

How to Use:

Mix equal parts of olive oil and fresh lemon juice in a small bowl.

Soak your nails in the mixture for 10-15 minutes.

Rinse off with lukewarm water and pat dry.

Repeat this process 2-3 times a week.

5. Tea Tree Oil

Why It Works: Tea tree oil has strong antifungal and antibacterial properties, making it an excellent remedy for preventing infections in a damaged nail bed.

How to Use:

Dilute a few drops of tea tree oil in a carrier oil like olive or coconut oil.

Apply the mixture to the affected nail bed using a cotton swab.

Leave it on for 15-20 minutes before rinsing off.

Use daily until the nail bed shows signs of improvement.

Recommended: How To Fight Nail Fungus 3X Faster Even While Sleeping

Additional Tips for Nail Bed Recovery

Keep Nails Short: Trim your nails regularly to reduce the risk of further injury and to promote healthy regrowth.

Avoid Harsh Chemicals: Refrain from using nail polish remover with acetone or other harsh chemicals that can further damage the nail bed.

Moisturize Regularly: Keep your nails and cuticles moisturized with natural oils to prevent dryness and cracking.

Protect Your Nails: Wear gloves when doing household chores or gardening to protect your nails from further trauma.

Be Gentle: Avoid picking or biting your nails and refrain from using your nails as tools.

Recommended: If Your Nails Are Getting Brown, You May Be Missing This Key Nutrient

When to Seek Professional Help

While these natural remedies can be effective for minor damage, there are times when you should consult a healthcare professional:

Severe Injury: If the nail bed is severely injured, bleeding excessively, or if the nail is completely detached, seek medical attention.

Signs of Infection: If you notice redness, swelling, pus, or increased pain, it could be a sign of an infection that requires professional treatment.

Persistent Issues: If the nail bed does not show signs of improvement after several weeks of home care, consult a dermatologist for further evaluation and treatment.

Conclusion

Repairing a damaged nail bed naturally at home is possible with the right care and attention. Using remedies like aloe vera, coconut oil, and vitamin E can promote healing and restore your nail bed to its healthy state. Remember to be patient, as healing can take time, and take preventive measures to avoid future damage. By following these tips, you can enjoy strong, healthy nails once again.

Keywords: Repair damaged nail bed, Natural remedies for nail bed repair, home treatment for damaged nails, Nail bed recovery tips, how to heal nail bed naturally

[uhrohmuhseo]

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