Zubicu-swordwolf

For a long time now, I've looked at the world through the narrow eye slits of my mask. The very mask carved from ivory, embedded with jewels. The lashes at the eyes are those of black swan's feathers. The lips painted with dye made from blood red roses. Along with my mask are my satin wraps; rich indigo, yellow, magenta and orange cover every inch of my body, save my hands. My hands are the only things left of me.   Brown, small, frail. My hands are the reason I continue to do what I do. Make masks for those who are as ashamed as I am. I've recently received an order to make one from ebony. One that shall be en-laden with gold and sunstone