The sky is ink. Stars glint faintly behind veils of drifting cloud. The world stands still, as if exhaling just once—Almost Midnight.

In homage to Eleventh Hour by Byredo, this scent captures that fragile, electric moment between day and darkness, between what was and what might still be.

It begins with the crisp flicker of bergamot, like a blade of light slicing through shadow. Then comes timur pepper, dry and citrus-spicy, like the scent of crushed fire-dusted petals scattered on a cold marble floor.

As you step deeper into the hour, the air thickens—ripe plum oozes like velvet, dripping from unseen branches, tangled with the dark nectar of fig. A flash of rum cuts through, boozy and golden, its warmth weaving with the strange sweetness of carrot seed, earthy and slightly bitter, like the soil of a forgotten garden.

Then the night begins to settle. Cedarwood smokes gently, wrapped in cashmere and tonka, their creamy textures rising like steam from warm skin. Labdanum pulses underneath, resinous and sticky like amber lit by candlelight, while Olibanum floats in, ghostlike—an ancient incense that brushes against your pulse.

A whisper of Iso E Super lingers—barely-there, skin-like, like the trace of someone who just left the room but left their soul behind.

This is Almost Midnight—the scent of time unraveling, of breath caught in the throat, of velvet shadows and candlelit promises. A perfume that doesn’t mark the end—but the delicious moment just before.