There is a woman who makes perfumes. She doesn’t simply make the perfumes, though. She expresses herself with them. When she is exhilarated, she makes one perfume, when she is enraged, she makes another. She names her perfumes, and because she names them, she owns them. Then there is a janissary, an elite Ottoman soldier, who falls in love with her perfumes. Neither of them have names, until the soldier gives her a name, which comes with its own implications. Their subsequent relationship ends with the tragic demolition of the Jannisaries, and as a city turns into an inferno, she gives him a name, too.