Her OwnSillage is the scent following afterthe wearer of perfume moving through a room.It comes from the French for a wake,as in the trail left by a jet through the sky. Once, she thought it was chopped cornstalks, fermented and fed, in the winter, to pigs. You can guess the kind of place she came from, how much of anywhere she’d been. When wind blew from the direction of the silos, she didn’t move. Would only raise her own hand to her nose for cover, for its soap smell, and continue whatever task she was set to. Flight, that there was other air, were not ideas she held then. Her OwnFloral complicated by chypre,fresh mixed with musk—the word for such a blendof oils is accord.Like a treaty signed bya former sovereign. Soon,she will be bent overa store’s vials of samples, learning new terms.Because a man will say she musthave a signature scent,meaning not her own skin’s. Soliflores are perfumes featuring a single flower—only the lily, or onlythe rose. Blossoms familiar from the garden at home,so lush, leafy, she isn’t ready for how stripped she’ll feel in another’s room. But soon,she’ll be standing upat the finger‑markedglass and mirror counter.It will be to old pure notesshe is saying no.