04/26/2025

Malificent
5 Reviews
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Malificent
3
"Bourbon Vanilla" - a scented journey into the memories of Manderley
Sometimes, like old, familiar dreams, scents carry us back to places we've never quite left.
Bourbon vanilla is one such fragrance.
It opens with a soft, almost caressing almond-orange blossom that fills the room like the first warm breeze on a summer's day in an enchanted garden.
Then comes the heart: a rose, not loud, not shrill - but one that seems to whisper, embraced by the secret weight of tobacco.
A whiff of evenings long past settles over everything - just like in the old corridors of Manderley, where memories still waft between the curtains.
And then: the base.
A deep, golden stream of ambergris, amyris, warm bourbon vanilla and creamy tonka bean.
A carpet that unrolls under your feet, soft and endless.
A room in which you want to linger without asking how long.
Bourbon vanilla is not a quiet fragrance.
It rises up - proud, velvety and unmistakable - and yet demands no apology for its presence.
You don't wear it by chance.
You choose it - like a house in which every door unlocks another memory.
And whoever wears it also carries a piece of these old stories with them.
Perhaps a little bit of Daphne du Maurier, perhaps a little bit of themselves.
Perhaps both, forever interwoven.
Bourbon vanilla is one such fragrance.
It opens with a soft, almost caressing almond-orange blossom that fills the room like the first warm breeze on a summer's day in an enchanted garden.
Then comes the heart: a rose, not loud, not shrill - but one that seems to whisper, embraced by the secret weight of tobacco.
A whiff of evenings long past settles over everything - just like in the old corridors of Manderley, where memories still waft between the curtains.
And then: the base.
A deep, golden stream of ambergris, amyris, warm bourbon vanilla and creamy tonka bean.
A carpet that unrolls under your feet, soft and endless.
A room in which you want to linger without asking how long.
Bourbon vanilla is not a quiet fragrance.
It rises up - proud, velvety and unmistakable - and yet demands no apology for its presence.
You don't wear it by chance.
You choose it - like a house in which every door unlocks another memory.
And whoever wears it also carries a piece of these old stories with them.
Perhaps a little bit of Daphne du Maurier, perhaps a little bit of themselves.
Perhaps both, forever interwoven.