Wandering Ghosts

A fright of wax. Melt spirits. Haunted harvest.

Three spectral little ghosts, conjured from the smoke-blackened soul of Gravrøk, a scent of scorched cedar, ritual ash and ancient firelight. These apparitions may be small, but each one carries the weight of something long departed. Hidden in a matte black tin, they wait… soft-footed and silent, like memories that never fully left.

When melted, they release a slow exhale of smoke and shadow, a fragrance not of fear, but of reverence. The scent of old fires still burning somewhere deep in the forest.

Crafted for those who honour the veil as it thins. For those who still light candles for the forgotten. For those who welcome wandering spirits home.