Orlaith, whose soft incantation unfurls like silken petals under the moon-kissed boughs of a cherry tree, traces its roots to the emerald isles of Ireland, where it once crowned radiant princesses as the “golden sovereign,” a title suffused with sunrise hues and gilded dreams. It carries in its structure the quiet dignity of gold leaf pressed against bamboo scrolls and, like the perfect fracture mended by kintsugi, illuminates the beauty in rarity—charming proof that it politely declines the fray of trend-driven popularity, with no more than ten newborns bearing its charge in 2024, a rank nestled near nine hundred and forty. Though it whispers of dawnlight and ancient courts, its allure is distinctly cool, an elegiac exhalation of ancestral grace that invites parents to cradle history as a poem breathed across centuries.
| Orlaith Carmody - |
| Orlaith Rafter - |