Fallen Star Scented Candle

He's a spitfire, literally. He's a spitfire, literally. Sitting there in the hearth, cursing your bacon and the rest of your breakfast. Your job is to clean out the hearth. Sweeping the ash into a bucket, you catch whiffs of smoke (obviously), sage, and earthy florals. You're more surprised than anything. The fireball glares at you, "What? Can't a sentient ball of fire burn some florals?" This fragrance smells like a witch's hearth in spring. An apothecary while they're brewing a sleeping poultice.