The silver bell above the door chimed softly, a delicate, crystalline note that danced through the air as Mikhailis stepped inside Lumine Étoile. The sound lingered for a heartbeat, then melted into the shop's music—a lilting harp arpeggio that seemed to float on scented air. The warmth inside contrasted with the brisk spring morning outside, and for an instant Mikhailis let the change settle over him like a cloak.
The perfumed atmosphere wrapped him in layers: first rose, then vanilla, then a final, elusive breath of sandalwood that made him think of distant caravans winding through desert passes. He drew it in slowly, savoring the welcome. If heaven sells perfume, it probably smells like this, he mused, lips twitching beneath his hood.
