The night was dark and still, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. The moon, full and bright, hung low in the sky, casting a soft glow over the Brice Estate. On the third floor of the small manor, a particular room lay in darkness, its curtains drawn tightly shut. Despite the moonlight's best efforts to filter inside, its beams bounced off the windowpane as if some form of warding prevented it from entering.

Outside, a man stood in the shadows, watching the room with a sly grin on his face. He shook his head in amusement, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and malice. "What a gullible woman," he murmured to himself, relishing in the thought of her falling for the deception. They were fools, all of them. The man glanced at a tent near him, "even you, Jasper," the man mumbled.

As he watched the moonlight fail to penetrate the room, he knew that the plan was working perfectly.

With a wry smile, the man vanished into the night. The moon continued to shine, its light casting a serene and peaceful glow over the estate. But within that one room, a darkness had descended, a shadow of lies and deceit that would soon consume everything and everyone within the walls of the Manor.

***

Pier released her from their hug. Then he extended his hand towards Emily's, his fingers delicately intertwined with hers, and led her towards a nearby cabinet. He opened it with a smooth motion, revealing the forgotten items that lay within. The notepad, pen, and sticky notes, left behind in the room the night before, were retrieved with care and presented to Emily with a gentle gesture.

"Start recording," Pier instructed in a low and steady voice, his eyes fixed upon her with a sense of determined purpose. Emily's lips curled into a soft smile, her gaze meeting Pier's with a sense of calm assurance.

But then, with a sudden spark of inspiration, Emily's demeanor shifted. "I have a better idea. There's a better way to record this," she spoke with quiet confidence, her tone rich with knowledge and authority. Then her eyes darted about until she finally caught a glimpse of her flashlight. Swiftly bending down to retrieve it, she left the room with a parting remark to Pier, imploring him to remain where he was.

Pier watched her go, his brow furrowed with confusion and curiosity. His mind raced with questions, wondering what Emily had in mind. He knew that things had changed, that there were new methods for recording information, but he couldn't quite grasp what she was thinking.

Without a hint of trepidation, Emily descended the staircase and proceeded through the corridors to her quarters. Nestled safely within the confines of her room, Emily retrieved her camera and laptop and returned to the third floor, excited by the prospect of saving her job and getting revenge.

As she entered, a sleek and modern device in her hand, "Things have changed, you know," she said with a knowing smile, her words ringing with truth. "There are better ways to record," she added, her voice filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Pier's frown slowly dissipated, replaced with a sense of understanding. Emily must have deduced that he knew nothing of the modern age.

Soon Emily began to work.

Pier silently observed as Emyli's gaze fixed on the wallpaper. He smiled, "I painted these with my bare hands, you know," he said to her. The sight of her widened eyes made him chuckle. "I had quite the talent," he whispered, stroking the wallpaper.

Emily let out a laugh. "And a bit conceited," she added.

Pier raised an eyebrow. "I'm merely stating the facts," he said, his tone tinged with confusion as if he genuinely couldn't fathom why Emily would say that.

She couldn't help but chuckle again. Pier seemed to have a bit of a narcissistic side to him, but she didn't mind. She had met people like him before. "What did you use?" she asked, changing the topic. "Use for what?" Pier questioned.

Emily pointed at the wallpaper. "What did you use to paint them? I mean, what kind of paint?" she corrected.

Pier tilted his head and placed a hand on his chin, as if in deep thought.

After a few seconds of silence, he answered, 'Oil paint.'" Then he gazed at her sternly. Emily couldn't help but sense that there was more behind that gaze. He seemed to be scrutinizing her, considering whether or not to reveal something to her. Suddenly, he turned away from the wallpaper and headed to the far right of the room. He knelt and removed a plank from the floor, revealing a small box. He retrieved it and brought it back to Emily, handing it to her.

"I'm entrusting you with this key, Emily. It will unlock my secrets," he said with a hint of sadness in his voice. Emily hesitated to take the box, but Pier looked at her with questioning eyes, urging her to do so."Have you heard the rumors?" Pier asked solemnly.

Perplexed, Emily furrowed her brow and asked, "What rumors?"

He smiled. "About me having created a method to make the paint on a canvas or anything last a lifetime."

Emily hesitantly nodded. She had forgotten about that piece of information, and now that Pier mentioned it, she stared at the box in her hands and asked hesitantly, "Is this...?"

"That's the key to a chest, Emily. I buried it somewhere on the grounds of Brice Manor," he said, his gaze solemn. "I was almost finished manipulating the properties of flaxseeds to make their binding power stronger. I was so close to achieving the perfect mixture when..." His voice trailed off, and Emily noticed a single tear escape his eye. She couldn't help but be amused. Do ghosts cry? she wondered.

"I aimed to create a product, Emily - a paint that could withstand the test of time. The secret lay in the flaxseeds, as they provided the perfect binding for the pigments. I noticed that the ratio used between pigments should differ. The plant where those pigments had come from should be taken into consideration. However, I..."

"Did you ever finish your experiment, Pier?" Emily interrupted.

Pier's gaze turned solemn as he replied, "I was so close, but unfortunately, I never got the chance."

Intrigued, Emily probed further, "What happened?"

Pier's smile turned sorrowful as he whispered, "I was killed."

Emily frowned, "Wait. Killed?" she asked. Her eyes bulged and her mouth fell agape. "I thought you..." There is no record of Pier Brice's death. It's as if he suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth. Those written words during her Google search suddenly flashed before her eyes.

"Pier, I-Im. I..." Emily stuttered.

"It's alright. We need not discuss that. You should concentrate on cataloging everything here. We have only a few hours before sunrise. As soon as the first rays of the sun hit the windowpane, this place and I will disappear," Pier whispered. Emily felt the urge to object. She yearned to know more about him. She...

"Please, Miss Hudson, start cataloging. Take the photos you need, but please make sure no one sees them. You can use the photos as a guide to look for the furniture you need to buy or..." Pier suddenly froze, his words caught in his throat. Emily was hugging him. It caught him off guard. He didn't expect that. Why would she..."

"I'm sorry about your death," she whispered.

Pier was fond of her. She had a way of entertaining him that he found captivating. He desired to hold onto her, akin to his past possessions. However, an unfamiliar sensation emerged within him. His body pulsated with excitement, an emotion he had never experienced. He felt engulfed by joy, akin to the feeling he got whenever he completed a painting or designed a new piece of furniture.

Emily was puzzled by her own actions. She had never been one to concern herself with others' emotions, especially not Pier's - he wasn't even human, after all. Yet here she was, embracing a ghost with a grip she couldn't seem to loosen. Maybe it was the loneliness she felt, intensified by the sorrow in his eyes. Or perhaps she was grateful, or sorry, or both. It didn't make sense, but it felt right. Strange as it was, she sensed that Pier needed comfort. Or maybe she needed it. She was lonely after all.

He hesitated, but after a while, he wrapped his arms around her too. It felt right. He was right about her. However, he hadn't expected to hold her this fast. But... He pushed down that small voice in his head and pried his gaze away from the others in the room that was staring at the woman in his arms.

At first, they were two separate paths, diverging with animus and fear. But in that moment of embrace, they merged into a single path, each step forward now taken in unison - albeit still unbeknownst to them - with a newfound sense of shared purpose and harmony.

But the moment was fleeting. Hers was, and his was, and soon, they released each other, once more reclaiming their personal and selfish reasons for standing in front of one another.

There was a tense silence between them before Emily released a nervous chuckle. She ran a hand through her hair and walked over to her computer. As she pressed the power button, her thoughts became centered on her designer instincts. She began by taking photos of the wallpapers, and then handed Pier a small notebook. Emily asked him to draw the patterns and flowers used on the wallpaper, before requesting he also draw the designs on the furniture carvings.

Pier asked her why she needed them drawn when she could simply take photos. Emily explained that showing a photo of the place would result in questions she couldn't begin to find an answer. She further clarified that she planned to claim the art he drew to be her own. She'd trick them into believing that she pieced together the furniture and wallpaper's faded patterns because of her talent.

Pier chuckled when she said that. But Emily found no offense. It was sneaky.

Normally, she wouldn't have done such a thing. She would have burned her eyebrows, strained her eyes, and starved herself to death just to figure out the patterns by herself. She had the talent to do so. But that would require a lot of time, and time, she didn't have.

After capturing every detail of the room in photographs from the ceiling to the carpet, Emily turned back to Pier. He had fallen silent and was perched elegantly on a couch with his legs crossed, clutching the pen tightly as he moved it over his notebook.

Emily walked over to Pier, sat down beside him on the couch, and asked, "Are you almost finished?"

Pier glanced at her, smiled, and responded, "You seem very comfortable, Emily. I'm glad. But I have to ask, don't you find this whole thing a bit strange?"

Emily chuckled. "I told you a while ago that this is crazy. And if you're wondering why I'm not screaming and running away from a gho..." her voice trailed off.

"From a ghost," Pier finished for her. "You can say it. I don't mind."

Emily felt her cheeks flush, though she couldn't be certain. But she knew she was blushing. "I'm not sure, Pier. Maybe it's because you're not..." She tilted her head, smiled, and added, "All bloody and terrifying."

Pier laughed, a genuine laugh that came from the depths of his being. It had been so long since he had laughed with his heart —  if he even had one. He had smiled and talked with the living for years, but it was always an act. Humans never touched his heart like art did. No one did, not even when he was alive.

"Or maybe, because I look good," he whispered.

The statement earned him a raised eyebrow from Emily and a slight push on his shoulder. The act had the pen in his hand missing a particular curve in his drawing.

In an instant, Pier threw the pen and scowled at her. "Why did you do that?" he yelled.

Emily was taken aback as everything seemed to be going smoothly up until that point. She didn't expect it. She never would have thought it possible considering everything had been going well. But Pier suddenly grabbed her arm as his scowl deepened. Then he screamed, "Don't disturb me while I'm working!"

Abruptly, he stood up, forcefully pulling her along as her hand remained tightly gripped in his. Emily stumbled and fell to the floor.

As she tried to collect herself, Pier began to wreak havoc, trampling on her belongings and destroying everything in sight. Emily was left in shock and fear, uncertain of how to respond. Suddenly, he was on top of her, his hands tightly wrapped around her throat. Emily gasped for air as he began to strangle her. She clawed at his hands, desperately trying to break free, but his grip only tightened.

Her vision blurred and, at that moment, as she danced slowly between consciousness and unconsciousness, the image of Pier began to transform. His hair grew longer, his skin darkened, and his eyes turned the color of coal. His lips became fuller and his cheekbones rose higher. Before Emily finally lost consciousness, she heard him say, "Stay away." But his voice was higher, making him sound more like a she than a he.