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When Klavier did his makeup, he could see his mother, hiding every little knick and imperfection in her skin, looking unblemished and perfect, almost factory-made.
When Klavier did his hair, he could see his father, making sure that he was coiffed perfectly and his beard perfectly timmed. Trying to look imposing and manly, not a hair out of place.
When Klavier did his nails, he could see his brother, “One cannot live a beautiful life without beautiful nails” he used to say, and neer left the house without his hands (and his façade) looking flawless.
When Klavier saw himself in the mirror, he could see bits and pieces of each. It truly felt like none of them ever left. Because he could see everyone…
But himself.
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