I was sitting by the fireplace, my gaze lost in the flames, when a fragment of soot broke off from the chimney and fell to the floor. Instinctively, I picked it up and imagined a dark, velvety universe, tinged with a certain melancholy. When the fire was out, I scraped away the remaining soot and mixed it with gold and resin. This is my way of telling the story of what remains when everything has been consumed—of what comes after the flame, when the warmth is just a trace but still lingers under the skin. The darkness of the soot takes center stage, yet the gold finds its way through, like a memory that still warms you even from far away. Wearing it feels like those winter evenings when the fire is out, but its scent still floats in the air.