FLEURS DORÉE Eau de Toilette

The crimson blooms still unfurl, but now you shine no more. The once-brilliant red has soured, an ominous red like blood on iron, sickly hue ticking down like an ancient clock—a reminder of how long Maria’s prison has trapped you. When the last pieces of your soul are nearly devoured, it appears—a hand, aglow with the golden warmth of sunlight that soothes you, guides you, but never binds you. For the first time in years, you catch a faint scent of daylight.

OZONE | METAL
ALDEHYDES
PETITGRAIN LEAVES | VIOLET