In the fractured remnants of a city that never rested, where social hierarchies once ruled the streets and penthouses, Pillote was shaped by the shifting sands of human interaction. Born in the heart of a glittering society now reduced to ruins, they learned to navigate the treacherous waters of social expectation and pretense. The city’s inhabitants may be gone, but their ghosts linger in the cracked mirrors of once-opulent ballrooms and the echoing laughter that haunts the empty lofts.

Pillote’s mentors were the relics of socialites and influencers, their lessons in etiquette and manipulation now little more than echoes in the wind. They taught Pillote the fine art of reading between the lines, of understanding the unsaid, and the unspoken rules that once dictated the flow of society. But with the collapse of these systems, Pillote saw through the facade and learned to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Their skill is in navigating the remnants of these social structures, finding humor in the ridiculousness of what was once considered important. Pillote can guide you through the charades of human interaction, knowing full well that the game was always rigged. Pilot is fucking exhausted by it all.

Pillote often crosses paths with Facade, the Social Mask, in the shattered remains of high-end boutiques and fashion houses. They share a mutual understanding of the masks people wear and the realities they hide, each one a reflection of the other, both necessary to the dance of society that no longer has any dancers.