Gold is never simply gold. Its warmth is a recipe — a few points of copper here, a whisper of silver there — and every house guards its own.
Ours is cast in the foundry beneath the atelier, in batches small enough to hold in two hands. The tone is warmer than most, closer to candlelight than to sunlight.
It is the first thing you notice across a room, and the last thing you tire of across a lifetime.