A scent, a memory, an eternity. The scent of Shalimar. It's all I have left of that night. An endless conversation between two artists in a gilded prison: she, a pianist fleeing a dark reality to Odessa; I, a painter returning to Paris. This painting is a treasure chest opened years later. The train tickets, room key 217, the hourglass... I don't know where she is today. But through this canvas, I offer her a fragment of immortality. The base note of a lifetime.