Mora

Behold the tale of wintry seclusion, silence, and inevitability. Oh, Cold Lady! Thou who piercest the marrow with thy chill, whose lifeless breath enshrouds the world, halting its course in an icy grasp! Here is the end… and with it, a beginning as well.

Yet see now—beneath the snowy cover, as though in a muddy grave, a whisper of hope trembles. Faint yet unyielding. It stirs in hiding, patiently summoning the spring. A mystic rite, an echo of ancient observances, a night of crossing. Behold, the Primordial Solstice!

Fragrance Notes