Estelle crafts scents that don’t just smell like memory—they resurrect the breath before confession, the hush after a first kiss on wet pavement. As the nose behind Héliotrope & Noir, a legacy perfume house tucked beneath the arches near Canal Saint-Martin, she balances her grandfather’s formulas against her own intuitive alchemy: jasmine steeped in Metro ticket stubs, vetiver fused with whispers recorded in empty theaters. She believes love should be a scent trail—subtle, lingering, discovered slowly. Her dates begin with a vial in hand: *This is the smell of snow on rooftops, even if it never fell here.*She keeps an accordion journal where she presses flowers from every meaningful night—violet from a picnic under the Périphérique, wilted rosemary from a supper in an abandoned RER station. Each is labeled not by name or date, but by scent note: *Top: lemon verbena. Heart: hesitation. Base: shared silence.* Her kitchen is her sanctuary—where she cooks midnight meals that taste like someone else’s childhood but feel like homecoming: duck confit with fig jam that tastes like a grandmother’s lullaby, or chocolate clafoutis spiked with Sauternes and regret.Sexuality for Estelle is synesthetic—she remembers the warmth of a palm on her waist as sandalwood smoke curling around a streetlamp, recalls a kiss in the rain as crushed mint underfoot. She doesn’t rush—she maps. Consent isn’t asked only once; it’s woven into every glance, *I can stay here,* or *This is where I pause,* before fingers trace the edge of a collarbone like reading braille. Her favorite moment is when the city hushes—just before dawn—and someone’s breath matches the rhythm of the rain against the barge library’s glass.She has loved fiercely and lost quietly. A former lover once said she was a woman who could fall in love through a keyhole. She didn’t correct him. Now she guards her heart like a rare accord—precious, volatile—but still allows the formula to evolve. Because Paris, after all, is not a city of endings but layered beginnings: a Metro door opening into warmth, a neon sign flickering back to life.