The Mask That Held Me Upright

The fabric draped over the mirror in my dressing room greeted me as always—a gentle comfort in the world where everything was set on showing me my reflection. The glass panes on the theatre, the floor to ceiling mirrors greeting me every morning as soon as the day starts, even the puddles on rainy days seemed set on patronising me. As if the words always ringing in my ears wasn’t enough.

The world loved me. They loved the roles I play. But most of all. They loved the mystery that I always kept in place.

I have worn the same mask ever since I entered the world of theatre. It had been my identity ever since the world learned of my name.

The fans whisper that name with reverence. The critics call me a legend, my art transcendent and the new fashion of the world on stage. And I live for all of that. I have been living for all of that.

Of course, with mystery comes in theories as well—speculations of what had caused me to put on a mask and hide my face from the world forever—because it was forever, I had no intention of taking it off anytime soon.

Some wondered if I had suffered in an incident. I have heard whispers of people speculating that my face must be so scarred and horrid, that is why I dare not show my face.

Some say it’s for the mystery of it all, perhaps, even the aesthetic purposes.

Yet no one is close to the truth. No one has managed to grasp even the hair of said truth. And they never shall. It would destroy me if they did. And I could not allow that to happen. I had to keep the illusion existing, or else it was I who would cease to exist.

Her words still rang in my ears, the cackle she let out that night. Oh, how foolish I had been. And desperate too.

I don’t fault myself for everything I had done. I don’t regret making the choice that led me to where I am now—in the middle of the stage—at the top of the acting world.

But sometimes I wonder. I stay up late at night and think how much longer until I cease to exist. How much longer until I take the mask off and turn into nothing but dust. Dust that will eventually fade and be forgotten. Will the world forget me too then? Forget of the legend I have crafted for them?

I hope not. That would be cruel.

But the witch had been cruel.

“Your reflection in exchange for fame. A mask instead of a face.”

I had accepted those terms without thinking through. I had been young and clinging onto the hope that the world will know my name.

I wanted to be known.

But is it truly knowing if they cannot see my face? Am I recognisable for something other than the mask I keep in place?

“Twenty minutes before you’re up on stage!” someone called through my door. I didn’t bother answering, that’s not how it goes. All I have to do is get ready, go on stage and do my job.

And then, I can go home. Where my lover is waiting. Always waiting. Like Penelope waited for Odysseus. Though, thankfully, they do not have to wait twenty years for me to come back. Just a few hours.

My hands moved over the costume as I made sure everything was in order. I checked the back of my head, where the laces held my mask in place. And then I was good to go, moving through the halls like a ghost. Or a vampire, perhaps. For, there was no reflection to my steps anymore.

I passed dozens of mirrors, I passed by windows. Yet none of them showed another me moving towards the stage.

It used to scare me at first. I used to confuse my reality with my dreams. Except ever since the curse was placed on me, my reflection ended trapped in the world of my dreams. I only met that person there, though they were always angry at me now—blaming me for selling them for fame.

Or was it me I sold?

“You ready?” another actor asked me, grinning as he assessed my mask.

“I cannot believe we’re working with the masked one,” I heard someone else whisper just loud enough for their excitement to echo through the backstage.

“Right? We’ll see them at their best!”

I smiled under my mask, basking in the little praise I could hear.

At times like this, the curse and everything that came with it became all worth it. On the stage I did not care about the consequences that would come if someone were to see my face without the mask.

And so I slipped again, turning into a character, commanding the stage with my presence alone. Not many could succeed in such ways—but I did.

Even shrouded in mystery, I held everyone’s attention captive. I was a cage and the audience my prisoners.

Hours passed like brittle sand in an hourglass. Sentences blurred and soon were just memories inside the people who had just watched me perform.

And my job here was done. Another successful day of basking in my glory as the masked one. Now I could relax, go back to my lover and let myself forget about the reflection that did not follow me. I could turn off my brain and stop thinking about the cursed mask glued to my face.

I caught a carriage to bring me home. My bones thrummed with anticipation of seeing my beautiful lover again. Every day of mine would end with me being soothed by her gentle hands, her soft voice.

And even thought she’d grown bolder over the months, my doll respected my decision of keeping my mask in place.

She didn’t know the real reason either. I couldn’t tell her. Even if I desperately wished to.

She simply wouldn’t understand. Though, sometimes I wish she would. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I could tell her. She knows me. Perhaps, not my face, but me. Me as a person.

But then I remember the witch’s words.

“Anyone who hears of your fate, shall be destined to go insane, trapped within you as your own reflection.”

And so, I remained silent, keeping my lover safe.

“I’m home,” I called out as I closed the wooden door behind me, inhaling the sweet aroma of baked bread and her lovely scent.

She appeared from the corner, her porcelain face dusted in flour. “My love!” she beamed.

I stepped closer, grasping her frail palm and lifting it towards where my lips would be.

“I’ve missed you dearly,” I breathed, looking up at her.

She smiled, blessing me with a sight so lovely it nearly brought me to my knees. “As have I. Tell me about your day.”

And so I recounted everything to her. The play. The way the audience leaned in towards me, eager to hear every word. I told her of the praise I heard backstage, the way it made my heart flutter just a tiny bit faster.

And I told her how desperately I had missed her.

And she smiled, though this time, it did not reach her lovely round eyes.

“If you have missed me so, how come you still hide yourself from me?”

“My love,” I started, already shaking my head.

“I’ve been nothing but loving to you,” she said. “I’ve kept no secrets.”

“I have no secrets as well.”

“Yes you do,” she insisted. “I don’t… I wish to see your face.”

I hated disappointing her. But I’d rather not grant this wish than wound her greatly when my existence ceased. Because it would if I were to show her my face.

“I can’t, my love,” I said gently.

I knew she wanted to argue. I knew she was not satisfied with my answer. But she stopped her questioning and just nodded, urging me to bed.

“You’ve had a long day.”

I did.

That was one of the things I loved most about my love. She was so caring, so adoring and so kind. So attuned to my presence she read me like a well-loved book.

I followed her into our bedroom, admiring as she got ready for bed and lied down beside me, blowing out the candle on her night stand.

I felt her body close to mine and I relaxed beside her, letting the warmth wash over me and lull me to sleep.

What I didn’t feel, was her body stirring, sitting up inside our bed. What I didn’t feel was her nimble fingers wrapping around the mask.

By the time I realised what she’d do, it was too late.

Her scream never quite left her lips. For I turned to dust before she could see the face hidden underneath.