For she knows that she is his creation, a monster herself. So she tries to fit in and become somebody else. The forced noise of happiness births from her stapled lips. She ravages and mauls at her skin, not a sound of pain as she begins to rip. Even with her mask in place, she does not belong here, even when in disguise. They can see straight through to her soul through her transparent eyes. There they source innocence and naivety, hope, and ignorance. And so, the man they call Narcissus, ...