Floral

Heliotrope smells like vanilla-scented powder warmed by sunlight—imagine crushing sweet almond biscuits mixed with cherry liqueur, then dusting the result with talcum. It's gourmand but delicate, with a subtle almond-marzipan sweetness undercut by something floral yet creamy. There's a powdery, almost baby-soft quality that feels nostalgic, like opening an old beauty compact. It's neither purely floral nor purely edible; it exists in a dreamy middle ground, slightly intoxicating and comforting.

Fresh

Talcum smells like the powdery softness of a baby's skin after a fresh bath—clean, almost translucent, with a whisper of mineral coolness. Imagine freshly laundered cotton dusted with talc powder, or the airy warmth of your grandmother's dressing table. It's weightless and soothing, reminiscent of freshly pressed linen and the gentle sweetness of rice powder. There's no sharp edge—only an enveloping, skin-like softness that feels innocent and intimate.