CIRI

This smells like Ciri when she’s just come in from the cold, breath still uneven, eyes already scanning the room. There’s softness here, but it’s earned—layered over instinct, movement, and a life spent running toward danger instead of away from it.

Rosewater – Light and gently floral, clean without being precious. A trace of nobility she never asked for, grace that shows up whether she wants it to or not.

Musk – Warm and close to the skin, unmistakably human. Grit, sweat, and survival—strength that comes from endurance, not myth.

Ivy – Green and slightly sharp, clinging and alive. Growth through hardship, adaptability, and the refusal to stay contained.

Amber – Softly glowing, settling in last. Resilience and warmth, the part of her that keeps going long after she should be spent.

It smells like motion paused for a heartbeat—Ciri between worlds, scarred, stubborn, and still standing.