She wore a mask every day.
Not a face mask to protect her from viruses.
Not makeup that masked her natural skin.
It was the mask of a shattered doll.
If you were to ask her why she started wearing it, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. As the years had gone on, the mask had weathered and cracked further, leaving more children crying and more adults turning to anger when they glimpsed her blank expression.
When the mask finally cracked and fell from her face she wouldn’t replace it.
But that was a problem for the future.
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