Comment: Amidst the clamor and chaos sits a pure spirit.A boy, unexposed to the intricacies of life. Fixated only on what is within an arm's reach. The mask is a mirror. It replies to the boy’s curious eyes. Promethean chants echo from his ancient past into his adolescent mind.The mask is an aperture. He holds it up to peer through. The empire on the other side beckons. Flesh is torn, blood is drawn.He has heard murmurs of Luci by the campfire. Pain prompts growth, dominion demands sacrifice.