Hot Water Night

The juniper berry and black pepper combination explodes onto skin with the sharp, almost medicinal bite of a freshly cracked peppercorn. Within seconds, you're enveloped in a brittle, gin-like dryness that feels almost aggressive in its refusal to be immediately appealing—the fragrance announces itself as something cerebral rather than hedonistic.

By the first hour, the cedarwood emerges as a pencil-shaving dryness that tightens around the spice, whilst the rose absolute threads through with a faintly astringent, slightly soapy quality. The composition settles into a woody-spicy temperament that remains cool and somewhat austere, never veering into creamy comfort; the interplay between the green rose and the mineral cedarwood creates a static, almost architectural quality.

The oud and ambergris base gradually anchor the fragrance into something deeper and faintly animalic, though neither note softens the overall austerity. What lingers is a resinous, slightly bitter woodiness with pale amber undertones—a restrained, almost monastic conclusion that feels less like a warm embrace and more like the lingering scent of incense in an empty chapel.