Inside the Brice manor, a woman stood gazing upon the handsome face of her ailing son. The son, with his breaths shallow and labored, lay on the bed, his life slowly ebbing away. Tears trickled down the woman's cheeks, not for her son's impending death, but for the loss of their wealth that would soon follow.

"You must love," the woman whispered to her son, her voice heavy with emotion. "Love is the only thing that can save us from this fate."

As the workers bustled around the room, their footsteps echoing on the cold stone floors, the madam urgently commanded them to prepare the concoction that could save her son's life. "Quickly," she urged them. "Move quickly."

The room was filled with a sense of desperation, as the woman clung to the hope that her son might be saved. But even as the workers worked feverishly to prepare the remedy, deep down the woman knew that their wealth and power would soon come to an end. For in this world, even love could not always conquer death and the cruel hand of fate.

***

As Emily gingerly retreated from Pier's otherworldly presence, she was struck by a curious and unexpected sense of tranquility. Although the man before her was undoubtedly deceased, a mere apparition of what he once was, she found herself devoid of fear. Puzzled by the circumstances that had led her to this encounter, Emily's mind raced with questions. Was Pier truly a ghost, a remnant of a life long gone? How had he come to be in this place, at this time?

As she struggled to make sense of the situation, Pier's voice cut through the silence, breaking her reverie. "How did you get here?" he inquired, his tone laced with curiosity. Emily hesitated before responding, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "I don't know. I mean... Why are you here? You're supposed to be... Are you a..."

Before she could finish her sentence, Pier's calming presence enveloped her. "Calm down, Emily," he urged his words like a balm to her frayed nerves.

As Emily stood before his striking handsomeness, she found herself overcome by a sudden flush of crimson that crept up her cheeks. Inhaling deeply, she tried to steady herself, but her gaze remained transfixed upon Peir's countenance, marveling at the perfection of his features. His long, delicate lashes seemed almost unfair in their beauty, far surpassing her own, and his complexion was as smooth and unblemished as the finest porcelain.

Uttering a faint murmur of "It's so unfair," Emily struggled to compose herself her mind reeling from his magnetic aura. It was all so unfair, she mused again, to be confronted with such an exquisite being.

"What is it," Miss Huson, Pier asked.

Emily's face turned a deeper shade of red, if such a thing were possible, as the realization dawned on her that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. Mortified, she tried to conceal her embarrassment by stammering out, "N-Nothing," her voice higher and more strained than she intended.

Pier's smile widened at her reaction, amusement glittering in his dark eyes. "Am I making you uneasy, Miss Hudson?" he asked, his voice low and velvety. Emily recoiled slightly at the intensity of his gaze, her eyes darting away from his as she fidgeted nervously with the hem of her shirt.

For a moment, the air between them was thick with tension, as Emily struggled to regain her composure and Peir made no move to ease her discomfort. It was as though he was enjoying her discomfort. As Emily stole a glance at him from beneath her lashes, she couldn't help but marvel at his effortless charm, his every movement exuding an aura of confidence and self-assurance as he toyed with the paintbrush he held, flipping it into the air and catching it with grace.

Then he looked at her again. Although she wasn't directly staring at him because her eyes were still pinned on the carpet, she glimpsed him at the corner of her eyes.

"Is it..." his voice trailed off, "truly nothing, Emily," he added. The way he uttered her name was so smooth and velvety that she felt like a teenager with her legs wobbling beneath her.

Feeling hopelessly out of her depth, Emily took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. "No, it's not that," she said, her words coming out in a rush. "I just...I was just thinking out loud."

Pier tilted his head slightly, studying her with a curious expression. "Thinking out loud, were you?" he said, his tone laced with amusement. "And what, may I ask was so unfair?"

Emily felt her face grow even hotter as she recalled her earlier thoughts about Peir's unfair advantages in the looks department. "Oh, nothing important," she mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.

Pier chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down Emily's spine. "Well then," he said, his voice dripping with charm. "How did you get here, Miss Hudson?"

When Pier chuckled, Emily's head snapped up, her eyes meeting his. It was only then that the full weight of the situation hit her like a bolt of lightning. Here she was, flushed and flustered, engaging in conversation with a man who had been dead for ages. The realization was so sudden and overwhelming that she felt her entire body begin to shake.

Pier noticed her unease immediately and took a step back, his expression now one of concern. "Don't be alarmed, Emily," he said softly. "I don't know how you got here, but I'm rather liking the company." His words were meant to be reassuring, but Emily couldn't shake the feeling of unease that was creeping up on her.

"How?" she blurted out, her voice trembling slightly. "How can you be here? How can I be here? What are you?"

Pier's smile faded slightly at the question, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "I suppose you could say that I'm a ghost," he said slowly. "A memory of a time long past, preserved in this place for reasons I cannot fathom."

Emily felt a chill run down her spine at his words, and she took a step back, suddenly unsure of herself. "This can't be real," she muttered. "I must be dreaming."

Pier shook his head, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "If you are, then it is a rather vivid one," he said. "But I assure you, Emily, this is no dream."

For a moment, they stood in silence, Emily still trying to process the reality of the situation, Peir watching her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "I know this must be quite overwhelming for you," he said at last, his tone gentle. "But I would be remiss if I didn't express my gratitude for your company. It has been a long time since I have had anyone to talk to."

Despite her fear and confusion, Emily, for a moment, couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Peir. If this was real, then to be trapped in this place, alone for centuries on end must have been depressing, she mused.

"Emily?" Pier murmured, seemingly guiding her back to him, to attend to him, to acknowledge his presence.

"I-Im... I don't..." Emily stammered unable to form words as confusion swirled in her head.

"Relax, Emily," Pier muttered. Then he walked towards his couch and sat down, patting the seat next to him. "Take a seat, Emily. Look around you. See if anything inspires you."

Emily hesitated for a moment before joining him on the couch. She felt unsure of what she was supposed to do or say. "Help with what?" she finally asked.

Pier smiled knowingly. "You're here to fix this room, aren't you? But you can't do that until you truly understand it." He gestured around the room. "Take it all in. Let it speak to you."

Emily's eyes scanned the room once again, taking in every little detail. She had to admit, it was a beautiful space. "It's... impressive," she finally said.

Pier chuckled. "I designed it myself. It's my sanctuary." He looked at her, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "What do you think of it?"

Emily took a deep breath, trying to muster up the courage to voice her thoughts. "It's magnificent," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it's also... empty."

Pier's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Empty?" he repeated.

"Yes," she said, nodding slowly. "As if something is missing."

Pier's gaze softened, and for a moment, Emily thought she saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. "You're right," he said. "Something is missing. But I think you might be the one who can help me find it."

Emily was taken aback by his words. "Me? How could I possibly help you?"

Pier shrugged. "You have a talent for seeing things that others can't. I think you might just have the key to unlocking the mystery of this room."

Emily felt confused. But, maybe, just maybe, she could make a difference here. "P-Perhaps," she said, hesitation clear in her voice. "I am skilled when it comes to things like this."

Pier's grin widened. "That's the spirit," he said, rising from the couch. "Come, let me show you around."

As he led her around the room, pointing out each piece of art and explaining the stories behind them, Emily felt as though she was seeing the room in a whole new light. But as she glanced at the unfinished portrait of Pier Brice leaning on a cabinet, it dawned on her again that this was not normal.

However, when she attempted to take a step away from him, he suddenly grabbed her arm. His touch felt cold.

"Relax, Emily. I'm not here to harm you," he assured.

She smiled, albeit forced.

"Do you see that furniture, Emily," he asked as he pointed at something in the far left corner of the room. Emily, though surprised and scared at his sudden touch, looked at the furniture he pointed at. It was a stool.

It was an exquisite nineteenth-century stool, a testament to the opulence and grandeur of the era. Crafted from rich, dark mahogany, the stool exuded a sense of richness and luxury at first glance. The intricate carvings and ornate detailing throughout the piece suggest masterful craftsmanship and attention to detail that was rare in modern pieces.

Emily, although baffled and still having shaky legs walked toward the furniture. It was perhaps the designer in her that guided her movement. She knelt in front of the stool and laid a hand on the seat.

The seat was upholstered in a sumptuous, plush velvet fabric looking like it was crafted to call upon someone to sink in and relax. The vibrant red color of the upholstery stood out starkly against the dark wood, creating a striking contrast that added to the visual impact of the piece.

One of the most striking features — Emily noted — was the intricately carved legs. They were adorned with delicate scrollwork and other ornate detailing, all of which were executed with the perfection and precision of a true master craftsman. The intricate carvings are further highlighted by the rich, deep mahogany wood, which seems to glow in the light.

Overall, the stool was a true masterpiece of design, craftsmanship, and luxury. It embodied the opulence and grandeur of Brice Manor, and its beauty was a testament to the skill and creativity of the artisans who created it.

Emily looked back at Pier and asked, "Did you make this?"

Pier smiled, "Yes, it was one of my first works." He walked forward and knelt beside Emily then ran a hand over the velvet-colored seat of the stool. "I was nine when I made this."

Emyli's eyes turned wide as saucers. "You're kidding," she asked, amusement and doubt evident in her tone.

"I won't lie, Emily. I was raised properly by my mother," he answered. There was a twinge of hurt in his voice which made Emily regret what she said.

"S-Sorry," she whispered.

"It's okay, Miss Hudson. It's getting late. You have to return," Peir told her as he gazed at the far right window.

"Wh-What do you..." Emily stuttered when she felt him grab her hand and immediately pulled her up.

"You have to go now before she..." his voice trailed off. Then he shook his head, smiled, and added, "It was a pleasure to be in your company, Miss Hudson."

Emily watched how he took a step back and gracefully bowed. "I will meet you again...soon."

"Wait. What do you mean..." Before she could finish her sentence, Pier's visage slowly faded and the entire room swirled and burst into vivid colors, then everything moved clockwise. The action made her dizzy and as the swirling took momentum, she fell onto the floor. Soon, everything turned bleak, black and grey.