Some were clothed.

Some were garbed with an invisible fabric far stronger and harder to unveil than a mask. He always believed that every human being possessed a hidden countenance shrouded in something elastic that does not necessarily show what one wanted to see but adapts to what's supposed to be. Perhaps that's what made it dangerous. Because, unlike a mask, it cannot be simply taken off.

Sighing to himself, Pier gently laid Emily's body on her bed. He was relieved that he had stopped himself in time; otherwise, the consequences could have been dire. He pushed that thought away.

"Poor thing," a high-pitched voice exclaimed, jarring Pier out of his thoughts. He turned around after covering Emily with a blanket.
"Don't interfere, Mother," Pier retorted.

"I find your fascination with her fascinating. I have to agree, she's different. Have you come to love her, Pier? Have you learned to love?"

He glared at his mother. "Leave," he demanded.

His mother laughed. "Fine, I'll leave."

"And don't ever do what you did earlier," Pier reminded her.

His mother turned around and faced him once more. "You were about to lose yourself, Pier."

"How would you know?" he retorted.

She chuckled. "Oh, I know," she replied. "Just remember, Pier, when you get that almost maddening feeling as if something has wormed its way into your skin, spreading throughout your body and landing solidly in your stomach..." his mother paused, "it is not vomit," she finished.

Pier frowned. "I'm not a child anymore, Mother. You don't have to watch over me."

"But I do, love. I have to," she murmured as she took a step back. "If you want to keep her, learn to accept that frightening feeling that crawls under your skin. Learn to live with that..." she paused again, "that aching need you feel below your belly button."

"Get out!" Pier yelled. His anger had Emily's things in disarray. Her clothes that were on the bed and the suitcase she had dropped on the floor before coming to him were now scattered across the room.

Left on his own, Pier sat beside Emily. He ran a hand through her hair. "Love," he murmured. "What is love?"
Isn't it enough to like? Because to love, to love is for his art.

Pier closed his eyes and took a deep breath. During his lifetime he has always been a curious person and aimed to find anything of significance beyond his art. Anything that could come close to its value. But he found none.

The high society he lived in was a world of opulence and extravagance. People dressed in fine silks and satins, adorned with diamonds and pearls, as they paraded through the streets in carriages that were more luxurious than the homes of the common folk. They lived in grand mansions and threw lavish parties, where they indulged in excess and revelry.

Pier was born into this world of wealth and privilege. Yet, despite the allure of this lifestyle, he found himself unable to fully embrace it. He longed for a simpler life, one where he could focus on his art and not be distracted by the constant desire for more.

However, the high society that he lived in was not content with simplicity or the beauty of art. They craved more, always more, and this greed consumed them. They surrounded themselves with people of their own kind, those who could offer them something in return for their patronage and never for the mere addition of knowledge. They moved in circles, always seeking out the next big thing, the next great opportunity even if it meant trampling one another in their wake.

Pier watched all of this with growing frustration and anger. He saw the shallow nature of their existence, the way they lived solely for their own pleasure and gain. He could not understand why they could not see the beauty in simplicity, in art for art's sake.

And so, he would often lock himself in his room, away from the parties and the people, away from the greed and the excess. He would paint for hours on end, lost in the beauty of his art, trying to block out the noise of the world outside.

But even in his solitude, he could not escape the movements of the people and their clothes. They were constantly in motion, like a swirling sea of fabric and jewels. He saw the way they moved, the way they talked, the way they laughed, and it sickened him.

He saw the way they looked at him, too, with their condescending gazes and their thinly veiled judgments. They saw him as an oddity, a curiosity, someone who did not fit in with their world. And he resented them for it.

Pier knew that he could never fully escape this world, that it was a part of him whether he liked it or not. But he refused to let it consume him, to let it take away his love for his art. So as a child, he started to dress himself as a pauper and escaped this high society by visiting the town his estate stood on. He thought he'd found some sort of escape. He thought the simplicity of life was the answer, but oh, it was worse.

The town, its inhabitants, and its culture were insufferable, he found that they lacked the challenge to meet his everyday need for knowledge.

Every passing day to him felt like he was in a stupor. Everything was stagnant. Every day the inhabitants of the selfish and corrupted town including his side of the society scrambled, reiterating their daily lives of the never-ending schedule of someone else's time.

They murmured and spoke to one another forcing nonessential laughs and retaining unwanted relationships that had limited mutual benefit to either party. That's why he found the words relationship and love laughable.

The town's people for him were like the lowest of pests in a much larger hive of activity, blinding, stumbling through life, insisting such monotony was the pinnacle of living and the peak of understanding. While on his side of high social standing, the people believed that retaining the dirt and wishing for the fall of one another was the pinnacle of living. What's worse was they believed that life ended when one lost their wealth. Truly, it voted the onlookers like himself to near extremes as he watched, observing the meaningless lives of those that roamed around him.

To live in such bliss of what they all considered normal was the end of a joke and a state of death to one such as him.

That's why at an early age he supposed that he wasn't meant for lavishness or monotony. And soon, he gave up trying to find fulfillment beyond his art. The people surrounding him and what they offered meant nothing. It was only his art that gave meaning and direction to his life.

This decision made him famous. But it also sparked the beginning of something he couldn't have foreseen. He became a sought-after artist. He became the center of lavishness and excitement. He didn't mind it. He accepted it as part of the dance. An additional tint to his colorful bridge for a brighter outcome. But when it started to consume his love for art, that's when he saw things differently.

This thing that created an imbalance in his life and art arrived in his household with a name and an inescapable chain that was three thousand bars of gold.

He could still remember that day.

It was the 14th of May and inside the Brice manor, a lavish party was in full swing. The opulent decorations were a sight to behold, with shimmering chandeliers casting a warm glow over the room, and the walls adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of grandeur and elegance.

The feast was fit for royalty, with platters of succulent meats, exotic fruits, and rich pastries. The aroma of spices and herbs wafted through the air, tantalizing the senses and making mouths water. Guests mingled and chatted, their laughter and merriment filling the room.

Pier sat in a corner, his mind consumed by conflicting emotions. He was torn between fleeing the party and staying to revel in the celebration of his art. His eyes darted around the room, observing the guests, who were dressed in their finest attire, adorned with jewels and lace.

Suddenly, his mother approached him, her gentle voice urging him to stay and embrace the moment. As she spoke, the guests' attention was drawn to the main door, which burst open, revealing a proud, aristocratic man.

Reginald Pembroke, a well-respected member of society, strode confidently into the room, his presence commanding attention. In his arms were two women, one was his wife and the other was his daughter. The guests hushed, their eyes fixed on the newcomers, as they made their way to the center of the room, their regal bearing commanding respect.

Soon, Reginald and his family made their way through the partygoers, their presence was felt by all. Pier, who had been lost in contemplation, suddenly found his attention drawn to the approaching group. A sense of unease settled over him, and he felt bile rising in his throat. He had a hunch of what was about to happen, when his mom waved at the family, and it filled him with trepidation.

Then his mother took his arm and guided him towards the Pembroke family, and as they drew near, he could hear his heart pounding in his chest.
When his eyes met Reginald's, he saw a glint of amusement in the man's gaze. That only served to heighten Pier's anxiety.

Reginald stepped forward, his daughter in tow, and Pier felt his breath catch in his throat. As the two young people stared at each other, Pier knew with absolute certainty what was coming. And when Reginald and his mother uttered the fateful words, "Meet your fiancé," Pier felt as though he had been struck by a bolt of lightning.

The world around him seemed to blur, and he felt as though he might faint. How could this be happening? He had never met this girl before, and yet she was being presented to him as his betrothed. His mind raced as he struggled to find a way out of this situation, but he knew that he was trapped.

As the reality of the situation sank in, Pier felt as though his entire world had been turned upside down. He had always felt that his art was his true calling, and now it seemed as though that dream was slipping away from him. He knew that he would have to find a way to make peace with this new reality, but for now, all he could do was stand there, feeling as though he might die from the shock of it all.

When his mother released his arm, the young woman - his so-called fiance - took his arm and smiled. Pier was a very observant person, so he took in her features.

Her skin was smooth and porcelain white, glowing with a natural radiance that seemed to emanate from within. Her eyes were large and bright, the color of deep sapphires, and framed by long, thick lashes that fluttered like butterfly wings. Her nose was small and straight, perfectly balanced with her high cheekbones and full, rosy lips. He hair was a cascade of shimmering gold, with loose curls that fell in soft waves around her face and down her back. Her figure was delicate and graceful, with slender arms, a tiny waist, and full, rounded curves in all the right places.

As the night wore on, Pier admitted to himself that every inch of her was flawless, from her long, slender neck to the tips of her dainty toes. A thing he noticed when she - shamelessly - removed her shoes in front of him. Her skin was unblemished, her teeth when she smiled were perfectly straight and white, and her hands and feet were small and delicate, with perfectly manicured nails.

She was the epitome of beauty, and her stunning looks attracted the attention of everyone they passed by. She was the envy of all the other women - an obviousness that Pier deduced after he caught their glares and sneers. But it was a pity, really, because her and Pier's so-called betrothal could never have eucatastrophe. What awaited this woman was definitely pessimism. Well, that's what Pier believed. Unfortunately, this woman was prepared.

Before the young woman left the party, she turned to him and said, "I was introduced as your fiance, but not once have you asked for my name." She smiled. "You have no interest in me. But that's alright. I have been warned." She gave him a peck on the cheek and as she turned she murmured, "Isabella Pembroke, don't ever forget that, Pier. I'm your fiance and will soon be your wife."

The whole experience was maddening for Pier. No, he thought. Maddening was an understatement.

"Why did you do that?"

The angry voice of Emily cut through his musings forcing Pier to open his eyes. Her glare was intimidating. Well, supposedly. To her perhaps. But he found it amusing. He smiled and said, "Let me explain. Who hurt you wasn't me. It was..."

"Get, out! I don't want to hear your explanation. I don't want anything to do with this manor I'm done. I'd rather be jailed than spend another night in this hellhole," Emily screamed.

Pier instant rose when Emily shifted and extricated herself from the bed. She circled the bed and stopped in front of him. Then she pointed at the door. An act that he found cute and laughable. "Get out," she yelled.

Pier turned his back to her and headed toward the window. But before he could take another step forward he heard Emily yell once more, "Where are you going? I said get out!"

Pier laughed as he turned to face her. "You amuse me, Emily. Have you forgotten that I'm no longer part of the living and that I can leave without the aid of a door?"

The expression on her face made him laugh again.

A jumbled form of surprise, embarrassment, and shame was apparent in her as her eyes widened briefly. Her eyebrows rose, and her mouth hung open as she processed what he just said.

Pier's amusement ran even deeper as he watched her begin to feel the weight of her mistake. Her facial expression danced to one of self-disgust, with her eyebrows furrowing and her lips pursing together. She shook her head, and avoided eye contact then looked away as she tried to compose herself. Then she stammered. "I-I know... what...what you are. You don't have to re...remind me. Get out!"

Pier shook his head and thought of teasing her further. "This is my house. I will remain as long as I want to," he answered indignantly.

What she did next had him hollering. She stomped her way toward him, grabbed his arm, and tried to pull him toward the bedroom door. "Get out. Get out. Get out," she screamed.

That did it for Pier. He knew she was at wit's end. So with her, still clinging to his arm, he vanished.

But as he floated in the dark corners of the manor, he heard her scream, "That stupid, self-righteous Jekyll and Hyde son of a bitch! Oh, I'm crazy. I've lost my mind. I'm so done. I'm leaving, you hear me? I'm leaving!"

It gave him another bout of laughter. Perhaps she was out of her mind. She hadn't even questioned why she could touch him when he was no longer part of this realm.

***

It was four in the afternoon when Emily rose from her slumber. As her eyes fluttered open, the scent of lavender tickled her nose. She curled like a ball and stretched her hands up. She didn't want to rise from the bed. Things had gotten out of hand