Spicy

Mace is the peculiar crimson lace that wraps nutmeg's seed—and it smells like nutmeg's sophisticated, slightly sharper older sibling. Imagine warm spiced honey with peppery heat, yet somehow more refined and delicate than its relative. There's a subtle floral-woody dryness beneath, almost like old library leather dusted with cinnamon and clove. When you smell it pure, there's a gentle sweetness that doesn't cloy, paired with a warming piquancy that tingles faintly on the olfactory nerve—familiar yet distinctly aristocratic.

Green

Tarragon smells like a verdant whisper—imagine the anise-tinged greenery you'd encounter brushing past fresh herb gardens, but softer, more refined than fennel. There's a subtle sweetness reminiscent of liquorice root, layered beneath a crisp, almost peppery herbaceousness. It's the aroma released when you crush fresh tarragon leaves between your fingers: simultaneously sharp and velvety, with whispers of green apple and white pepper. Not aggressively spicy, but gently warming.