Floral

Black rose doesn't smell like a literal rose—it's far darker and more mysterious. Imagine a classic red rose's sweet perfume, but aged in shadows: deeper, slightly dusty, with whispers of dried petals, old leather, and dark plum. There's an almost gothic richness to it, velvety and slightly smoky, as though you're smelling a rose that's been pressed between vintage book pages for years. It carries hints of anise, tobacco leaf, and dark berries—sensual rather than fresh.

Floral

Heliotrope smells like vanilla-scented powder warmed by sunlight—imagine crushing sweet almond biscuits mixed with cherry liqueur, then dusting the result with talcum. It's gourmand but delicate, with a subtle almond-marzipan sweetness undercut by something floral yet creamy. There's a powdery, almost baby-soft quality that feels nostalgic, like opening an old beauty compact. It's neither purely floral nor purely edible; it exists in a dreamy middle ground, slightly intoxicating and comforting.