Ikiryo presents the next scent in the Maiden Collection,  The Lotus Maiden.

"THE LOTUS MAIDEN" by Vincent of Dreamhouse
She comes to this place not by foot, nor by memory, nor by the passage of time.
She simply appears.
Some say she materializes from the mist that drifts between the bamboo. There are even those who believe she is born each dawn from a single drop of dew resting upon the heart of a lotus blossom.
No one knows.
What is known is that she always returns.
The pond lies hidden beyond the reach of ordinary paths, encircled by ancient bamboo and flowering lilacs whose roots drink from waters older than memory. White lotuses cover its surface like scattered stars. Their petals never wither. Their blossoms never fade.
At the center of this sacred water, she performs the same ritual she has enacted since the first dawn…with a perfect green apple.
The apple is not an offering of abundance, nor temptation, nor knowledge. It is remembrance. It contains the memory of every spring that has ever touched the earth. Every blossom. Every first breath. Every promise of renewal.
The lotuses are its opposite.  They carry forgetting. Silence.  Release.
Together they form the balance upon which the pond survives.
She studies them as though seeing them for the first time. Then, with solemn reverence, she lowers the apple to the water and surrenders it to the depths below. The pond accepts the offering without ripple or sound.
Only then does she begin to dissolve.  Not into death, for she has long since passed beyond such things.
She becomes mist.
Her body unwinds into silver vapor that drifts among the bamboo groves and settles upon the lilies. Through the night it gathers itself into countless droplets of dew that rest upon the open lotuses like scattered jewels.
The flowers drink her.  The pond remembers her.
And when the morning sun finally touches the water, the dew vanishes.  The mist disappears.  The spirit is gone.  For a time.
Yet absence is merely another part of the ritual.  As the day passes, the pond slowly forgets itself. The lotuses grow heavy. The water darkens. The boundary between memory and oblivion begins to weaken.
And so she returns.  At twilight, when the first shadows gather beneath the bamboo, she manifests once more beside the sacred waters, carrying again a perfect green apple.
She does not remember her previous visit.  She does not remember the one before that.  She remembers only the ritual.  For she is not merely a ghost: she is the covenant between the pond and eternity.
The offering.
The mist.
The dew.
The return.
As long as she continues her sacred cycle, the pond can never die.
And as long as the pond endures, neither can she...

The Lotus Maiden
     Bamboo, apple, white lotus blossom, musk, dewdrops, tree moss
100% FEM-BOMB