Citrus

Yuzu smells like a more sophisticated, delicate citrus than its louder cousins lemon and grapefruit. Imagine biting into a mandarin that's been kissed with floral perfume—there's honeyed sweetness beneath the bright peel, with subtle herbal whispers and an almost creamy roundness. It's crisp without being sharp, with a mysterious depth that lingers on the skin like a gentle, slightly spicy warmth. Less acidic than lime, more elegant than orange.

Oriental

Myrrh smells like incense and ancient temples—warm, slightly smoky, and deeply resinous. Imagine the dusty sweetness of aged wood combined with a subtle bitterness, like burnt honey with a whisper of medicinal earthiness. There's a dry, almost leathery quality that coats your mouth when you breathe it in. It's not bright or cheerful; rather, it feels ceremonial and contemplative, reminiscent of the aroma rising from a church censer or the lingering scent in a spice merchant's shop.