Encore Du Temps
Encore du Temps — a fragrance that already carries the ghost of memory in its name: “Once again, of time.”
parfum
Top notes: Green Notes, Fig, Bergamot
Heart notes: Jasmine, Magnolia, Osmanthus
Base notes: Cedarwood, Sandalwood, Musk, Amber
“Encore du Temps” — a reverie whispered by the hours that no longer pass.
It begins with a breath not of air, but of recollection — green and fig-laced, soft as the moss that clings to forgotten statues. Bergamot glimmers faintly, like sunlight slanting through the cracks of a long-abandoned room. The opening is tender, like waking from a dream you are not ready to leave.
Then, the florals bloom — not in joy, but in silence. Jasmine and magnolia unfold like pressed blossoms in a drawer untouched for years. Osmanthus brings the faintest sweetness, reminiscent of fruit once ripened, now remembered only by scent. It is beautiful — unbearably so — because it knows it is fleeting.
As the perfume settles, time no longer marches but lingers.
Cedar and sandalwood form a structure — not a house, but a memory of one. Musk rises like a forgotten letter, and amber hums low, golden and warm as a candle burned down to the wick. All is softness, but tinged with loss.
Encore du Temps is not a fragrance. It is a phantom of feeling —
The echo of touch, the rustle of absence, the perfume of moments relived in the quiet.
It does not haunt — it hovers.
Encore du Temps — a fragrance that already carries the ghost of memory in its name: “Once again, of time.”
parfum
Top notes: Green Notes, Fig, Bergamot
Heart notes: Jasmine, Magnolia, Osmanthus
Base notes: Cedarwood, Sandalwood, Musk, Amber
“Encore du Temps” — a reverie whispered by the hours that no longer pass.
It begins with a breath not of air, but of recollection — green and fig-laced, soft as the moss that clings to forgotten statues. Bergamot glimmers faintly, like sunlight slanting through the cracks of a long-abandoned room. The opening is tender, like waking from a dream you are not ready to leave.
Then, the florals bloom — not in joy, but in silence. Jasmine and magnolia unfold like pressed blossoms in a drawer untouched for years. Osmanthus brings the faintest sweetness, reminiscent of fruit once ripened, now remembered only by scent. It is beautiful — unbearably so — because it knows it is fleeting.
As the perfume settles, time no longer marches but lingers.
Cedar and sandalwood form a structure — not a house, but a memory of one. Musk rises like a forgotten letter, and amber hums low, golden and warm as a candle burned down to the wick. All is softness, but tinged with loss.
Encore du Temps is not a fragrance. It is a phantom of feeling —
The echo of touch, the rustle of absence, the perfume of moments relived in the quiet.
It does not haunt — it hovers.
Encore du Temps — a fragrance that already carries the ghost of memory in its name: “Once again, of time.”
parfum
Top notes: Green Notes, Fig, Bergamot
Heart notes: Jasmine, Magnolia, Osmanthus
Base notes: Cedarwood, Sandalwood, Musk, Amber
“Encore du Temps” — a reverie whispered by the hours that no longer pass.
It begins with a breath not of air, but of recollection — green and fig-laced, soft as the moss that clings to forgotten statues. Bergamot glimmers faintly, like sunlight slanting through the cracks of a long-abandoned room. The opening is tender, like waking from a dream you are not ready to leave.
Then, the florals bloom — not in joy, but in silence. Jasmine and magnolia unfold like pressed blossoms in a drawer untouched for years. Osmanthus brings the faintest sweetness, reminiscent of fruit once ripened, now remembered only by scent. It is beautiful — unbearably so — because it knows it is fleeting.
As the perfume settles, time no longer marches but lingers.
Cedar and sandalwood form a structure — not a house, but a memory of one. Musk rises like a forgotten letter, and amber hums low, golden and warm as a candle burned down to the wick. All is softness, but tinged with loss.
Encore du Temps is not a fragrance. It is a phantom of feeling —
The echo of touch, the rustle of absence, the perfume of moments relived in the quiet.
It does not haunt — it hovers.