A sparkling and saturated spicy floral that pierces at a voluminous roundness that is evident on skin. It is a liquid that smells as though it’s been drenched with saffron and patchouli-edged petals, in a palette that veers out of fresh rose territory into a vintage, like blowing dust off a fine red wine.
Its first inhalation captures a moment just after twilight on a languid late fall evening, when the swing of a door brings a waft from a bouquet that breaks up stagnant air. This rose is not a deep red or a pale pink but a pastel purple so pale it is almost gray. Its petal edges are just beginning to curl, tilting open, with a fullness that mimics the shape of a bulbous tea cup, filled with rich spice and hunks of rare wood.
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