DEATH

The page is not white.
It carries the colour of bone, dust, and earth caught beneath the fingernails.

Death opens with the scent of soil after rain—cool, damp, and quietly still.

Iris brings floral, powdery, and woody facets, softening the composition with warmth and tenderness, like light falling across an old sheet of paper.

Tomato leaf and apricot offer a final trace of greenness and brightness before something is severed and disappears into the dark.

Then, slowly, the smoke begins to rise.

Frankincense drifts like incense smoke moving through the air at an unhurried pace. Rose appears not as a symbol of love,

but as an offering left in remembrance of a name that has already been written down.

Vetiver draws the composition back toward roots and earth. Orris pallida leaves a soft, delicate veil of powder on the skin,

while Siam benzoin brings a restrained warmth, like the final stick of incense still burning.

Death is the scent of a final record, written in silence.