Winter Palace by Memo Paris is the awakening of the imperial dragon, eyes sparkling with icy fire. Oil of orange. He rises above a cup of red tea, his breath swirling the flavor of bergamot. Suddenly the heat swells, and the atmosphere shifts from citrus to intense wood. Soaring into the air, he vanishes from the palace in a flash of powder. Benzoin. What is he looking for? All of a sudden, it stops snowing outside. You can see him in the distance, undulating in sync with the Great Wall of China. The dragon is dancing with joy, drunk on freedom. He sows an everlasting spring, mate tea, grapefruit, and yet leaves a wake of passionate amber and vanilla. Winter Palace has freed its emissary, a winged and tenacious dragon king with a trail of fire.