Woody

Cade juniper is utterly austere and smoky—imagine standing in a pine forest after a controlled burn, where charred wood mingles with resinous evergreen branches. There's a burnt, almost medicinal quality that feels neither fresh nor sweet, but rather deeply earthy and tarry. It smells like aged leather that's been exposed to campfire smoke, with an underlying mineral dryness. Not a note you'd want on skin alone, but darkly compelling in small doses—like the smell of a woodsman's workbench.

Citrus

Mandarin orange smells like biting into a sun-warmed orange on a summer afternoon—bright, juicy, and intensely sweet, but with a slightly floral, almost creamy undertone that distinguishes it from sharper citrus fruits like lemon. It's warmer and softer than bergamot, less bitter than grapefruit, with a whisper of honeyed smoothness. Imagine the concentrated essence of that sticky-fingered moment when you peel the fruit and release its aromatic oils—that's mandarin's character: immediately uplifting, naturally sweet, and wrapped in an almost candied warmth.