Perfume Memory Vial

A thumb-sized crystal vial holds ten doses of perfume built around one recorded sensory memory. Consultation takes an hour: the client breathes through a silver mask, names what may be kept, and presses a warm palm to the mnemonic lattice. Later, one drop releases scent first, then temperature, color, muscle tension, and the bodily edge of the chosen moment. No facts. No faces. No dialogue. Just homeworld rain, a wedding morning, a dead lover's coat—or whatever ache the buyer can afford to preserve. The atomizer recognizes one pulse, which prevents theft and does nothing about obsession. Store it cold, turn it nightly, and never mix it with another vial. Repeated use blunts both fragrance and the original recollection; clients sometimes buy stronger reconstructions on credit, chasing a feeling they are actively erasing. In polite company, wearing someone else's memorial scent is intimate. Naming it without invitation is obscene.