HIRAETH Eau de Toilette

There's a song the wind carries when it crosses the prairie at dusk. You don't remember learning it, but your chest aches like you've known it all your life. It smells like spring. Green leaves still wet with morning, neroli bright. Then the blossoms open. Orange blossom and white flowers, both soft and heavy, the kind that bloomed in a garden. Maybe it did exist. Maybe you dreamed it so many times it became real. The memory of a homeland that lives only in the longing for it. Hiraeth—the Welsh call it that. A homesickness for a place you can never return to. Perhaps because it's gone. Perhaps because it was never truly yours to begin with. The base notes stay longest. Ambergris, warm and a little salt-touched, like dried tears. Musk, quiet and close, the embrace of someone who left too soon but never really left at all.
A fragrance for those who carry home in their chest. For love, and for longing without a place to rest.

Related to: Tales of Marulrie: The Blight | Crimson Dusk