For the morning after the encore.

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Some nights leave a scent behind.

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A dim dressing room glowing amber behind heavy green velvet curtains. Espresso cooling on an amplifier. Orange marmalade on someone’s fingertips. Smoke caught in leather. Somewhere in the room, the metallic hum of a guitar string burnt out beneath the final encore.

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Velvet Marmalade is a modern rock ’n’ roll relic — decadent, sensual, and just a little dangerous.

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It opens with bitter orange, marmalade and bergamot, bright against the darkness. At its heart, espresso absolute, dried rose and green velvet — moss, suede and florals — create something lush, strange and irresistibly intimate.

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Then comes the aftermath: burnt guitar string, Afghan fur, patchouli resin, amberwood and leather smoke.

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Warm skin. Worn leather. Smoldering wood. A fur coat still warm from the night before.

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Not sweet. Not clean. Not innocent.

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Velvet Marmalade is sin wrapped in sunlight — a crooked halo, a lingering touch, the electric feeling of a night you probably shouldn’t remember.

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Unisex. Addictive. Lived-in.

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Bitter orange. Burnt strings. Velvet skin.