About Le Reliquaire
Fragrance inextricably intertwined with time, memories, and nostalgia.
At Le Reliquaire, we craft Chicago-made, handmade candles and incense that speak directly to your heart, layered with niche fragrance artistry and steeped in generational memory. Each scent is a living story—Sunday Drive, Orion Club, The Pearl Earring, Three Sisters—conjuring vivid moments, places, and personal histories.
Sunday Drive opens with geosmin-laced petrichor and citrus, echoing the quiet anticipation of summer storms and endless Midwestern roads.
Orion Club smolders with smoky sweetness—an invitation to lean into nostalgia, nights, and the rituals that ground us.
The Pearl Earring evokes coconut bloom and soft florals, like finding a note tucked inside an heirloom.
Three Sisters is lush, dark rose and cassis—a shared memory steeped in feminine resilience and warmth.
Each fragrance is hand-poured or dipped in small batches. We‘ve curated every vessel to be kept, reused, remembered—because scent should linger long after the flame.
Le Reliquaire is not just scent—it’s a reliquary for your moments and your memories. Memories Alit.
About the Maker
Every scent starts with a story.
I fell in love with niche fragrance as a teen, drawn to the way scent becomes a language beyond words—an atmosphere that communicates emotion, identity, and memory. Fragrance isn’t just something worn; it lingers in your space, layers on your skin, and whispers who you are without needing to say a thing. And sometimes, when a note lands just right, it becomes a portal—pulling you instantly back into a cherished memory or layering new moments with the comfort of familiarity.
Le Reliquaire was born from that devotion to scent’s emotional echo. But its roots dig even deeper—into the Calumet Region, the industrial heartland that built the edges of Chicago. This is where I’m from. Hammond, Calumet City, Crown Point, the South Side—these aren’t just places on a map; they’re memory-scapes dense with stories, contradiction, and grit. Places where prairie and power plants coexist, where soil and steel define the landscape and the people shaped by it.
My first fragrance, Frances, was an ode to that terrain. Inspired by a photo of my great-grandmother standing in a windswept field, it was my attempt to bottle the prairie—to distill the rogue shade of a lone tree, the whisper of swaying grasses, the crunch of dry soil. A chypre turned inside out. Sunday Drive followed, infused with geosmin to replicate the scent of fresh rain on earth, echoing childhood summers, time with my grandfather, and slow-moving afternoons.