Staggering and stumbling, the lad makes his way on to the stage. Overwhelmed, he gasps as he comes on terms with the moment he'll put up his spectacle for the audience to witness. Starting off, he senses a disturbance....something that prickles every fibre of his existence. "How am I supposed to put up a spectacle when my audience is drunk?",  he asks. He doesn't relent, in spite of himself. And somewhere along the way, falls love with this gloominess of his. Jaded, he haults, and the voice in the heart speaks to him "For your master on the black orb, you wear this mask....this mask that conceals your purity, this mask that hides you, this mask that the master gave you, the one you think will protect you.....but protect you from what?", the voice asks. "From the master, aye", the lad says with a bit of panic....."Fear the master then, eh? Well, the mask'll protect you....the one that master handed you", the voice says. And in this moment, does the lad realize that the master is selling a cure for a disease of his own invention. Sprinting away to the pond nearby, the lad peers at his reflection. Unseen yet familiar, his reflection smiles back...as the mask eveporates into nothingness.