Oriental

Labdanum smells like walking into an ancient library where leather-bound books meet honeyed amber. It's warm, slightly resinous, and vaguely medicinal—imagine dried apricots dusted with incense, with a subtle leather undertone and a hint of barnyard earthiness. There's a sticky, almost tar-like quality that feels both precious and primal. It's the scent of luxurious comfort with an unexpected roughness, rather like wrapping yourself in a worn cashmere blanket that smells faintly of honey and smoke.

Fresh

Mothball carries a distinctly sharp, almost medicinal pungency—imagine walking into a vintage wardrobe after decades of storage. It smells acrid and slightly chemical, reminiscent of camphor or naphthalene, with an underlying mineral coolness. There's a peculiar brightness to it, almost crystalline, like inhaling camphorated vapour mixed with something faintly antiseptic. It's simultaneously clean and oppressive, conjuring memories of old linen closets and grandmother's cedar chests.