Where the Sun Meets the Tomb

Sacred Scarab opens with a radiant burst of soapy aldehydes and fresh, aquatic florals. Combined with a dash of sparkling lemon, it smells bright yellow, bringing to mind an image of a rising sun. Given the scarab beetle's association with the Egyptian god Khepri - he who rolls the sun across the sky - I find the opening rather brilliant.

But the luminescence doesn't last. Before long, darker, smokier tones begin to rise, as though the sun-worshippers have stepped down into the sandy tombs of their ancestors. They light incense in the shadows, while golden chalices brim with offerings of dried fruits and plum wine.

There's certainly an animalic twang here, too - muted in the opening, but stirring to life as it dries down. Rather than turning foul, or fecal, the civet provides a distinctly vintage edge. The effect feels aristocratic and nostalgic, as though belonging to a woman of the upper echelons from a bygone era.

Only when the brightness has completely faded do the resins truly emerge - benzoin bringing a warm, vanillic sweetness, while the myrrh leans dry and ceremonial. It's a clever continuation from the fizzy lemon sunrise, to the smoky golden sunset.