Fresh

Linen smells like freshly laundered cotton sheets dried in bright sunshine—crisp, airy, and vaguely clean without being soapy. It's the scent of sun-bleached fabric, with a whisper of dried grass and faint starch. There's an almost mineral quality, like the smell of clean air after rain has cleared away dust. It's breezy and weightless, evoking the feeling of wind-dried linens snapping on a clothesline rather than any perfumed product.

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.