Frequently Asked Questions about Calling All Angels by April Aromatics
What does Calling All Angels by April Aromatics smell like?
Calling All Angels by April Aromatics features middle notes of Honey, Incense, and Rose and base notes of Amber, Benzoin, Elemi, Labdanum, Olibanum (Frankincense), Opoponax, Tonka Bean, Vanilla, and Woody Notes.
Who created Calling All Angels by April Aromatics?
Calling All Angels by April Aromatics was created by Tanja Bochnig.
When was Calling All Angels by April Aromatics released?
Calling All Angels by April Aromatics was released in 2013.
Calling All Angels, from April Aromatics was released in 2013. The perfumer behind this creation is Tanja Bochnig. It has the middle notes of Honey, Incense, and Rose and base notes of Amber, Benzoin, Elemi, Labdanum, Olibanum (Frankincense), Opoponax, Tonka Bean, Vanilla, and Woody Notes.
April Aromatics Calling All Angels is plump unearthly fruits, gorged on ancient amber nectar, hanging heavy at twilight, eventually drying and cracking in the heat of a dying sun. Silent sisters, veiled in mystery, stretch these honey-drunk orbs across a vast expanse of time littered with bone, their flesh becoming supple leather under reverent, unceasing hands. Wisps of aromatic smoke rise from flint-scattered pyres, and the air crackles with the essence of aeons compressed into chips of burnished crystal, shards of petrified sunlight, and the tawny tears of grieving trees. The sisters' nimble fingers arrange fragments of balsamic fruit-flesh and sticky sap-jewels, the assemblage of an olfactory mosaic, redolent of a hallowed sweetness entirely beyond mortality’s grasp. In this fragrance of plummy depths wreathed with leathery whispers, of resinous rituals and sacred smoke, the boundaries between plant, mineral, and devotion blur into a hazy, intoxicating mirage, an ambrosial testament to the everlasting, endless, and eternal.
April Aromatics Calling All Angels is plump unearthly fruits, gorged on ancient amber nectar, hanging heavy at twilight, eventually drying and cracking in the heat of a dying sun. Silent sisters, veiled in mystery, stretch these honey-drunk orbs across a vast expanse of time littered with bone, their flesh becoming supple leather under reverent, unceasing hands. Wisps of aromatic smoke rise from flint-scattered pyres, and the air crackles with the essence of aeons compressed into chips of burnished crystal, shards of petrified sunlight, and the tawny tears of grieving trees. The sisters' nimble fingers arrange fragments of balsamic fruit-flesh and sticky sap-jewels, the assemblage of an olfactory mosaic, redolent of a hallowed sweetness entirely beyond mortality’s grasp. In this fragrance of plummy depths wreathed with leathery whispers, of resinous rituals and sacred smoke, the boundaries between plant, mineral, and devotion blur into a hazy, intoxicating mirage, an ambrosial testament to the everlasting, endless, and eternal.