The curtain rises on a state at the corner of 69 rue des Archives, in the Marais, Paris.
 A place that is like a frontier, where the old world ends and the new world begins. The pale moon can be seen lowering over the towers of Notre Dame in the distance. A man and a woman are in a perfumery, surrounded by bottles. He has succumbed in submission to a fallen ruler and is doomed to final fate. It is the new soul, the new role, it is desirable and has conquered. She is the complaint, a condescending touch. The blink of her eyelashes declares that she is the one whose hour of glory has come, a blotting paper in hand.
 The date is November 16, 2019.
 - EXIT THE KING, a perfume to dream of entropy? Etienne, you're digressing, you've finally lost your mind. Entropy has nothing to do with perfume.
 - Yes Lola, you heard right. EXIT THE KING, a perfume to dream of entropy. Don't you think entropy is beautiful?
 - Perched on the gallows in front of the guillotine, you pronounce these three words as a farewell to the troubled world.
 - You don't have to understand anything, innocent child. It is about creating a perfume like a Loire castle, a perfume that could rise higher than the Château de Blois, higher than the terrace where the last Valois saw the sun set in its glory. And then you disappear, die, as if by magic before the fall. With the whisper of a kiss in the moment of its splendor, and then a humble return to something else. A scent of magnificence, love and goodness for the new world and to forget the old and overwhelming powers. Resolutely cyprus.
 - Welcome to the new world, you mean?
 - Yes Lola, if it is modern and eternally powdered like this perfume.
 EXIT THE KING