Max Philip Stiletto, a whisper sharp enough to bend the night toward you. Black cherry blooms with dark intention, as pink pepper sparks like electricity against the skin, and rose ascends, not delicate, never delicate, but sovereign and unyielding. Deeper still, patchouli and ginger coil like shadow and flame, two forces that should never meet yet cannot exist apart. Slowly, vanilla and caramel breathe into the soul as ambergris pulls you under like a velvet tide. Leave a room. Let the room remember you.
