Mask 019 - The Mask of Our Name
My friend Patroclus, whom I loved, is dead.
I loved him more than any other comrade.
I loved him like my head, my life, myself.
Don the mask, the strip of silicon that covers only one half of your face. Let he whom you love the most don the other half of his own volition and love for you - be he an object of desire or not, it makes no difference.
Notice the changes that take place in your body and his. You will find that you can see through his eyes, listen with his ears, and speak with his voice. Your soul will confuse itself with his forever, and there will be no secrets between you. All that you know, he will know; all that you are, he will be. Close your eyes a moment and concentrate, open them again and see that your face can turn into his at will.
You will be willingly bound, a willing prisoner, fuel for the flame that burns without being seen. But as you are in health, so you shall be in sickness. All of the pleasure you feel, he shall enjoy; all of the pain he suffers, you shall endure. Any illness will bring both of you low, and so long as one of you pushes through, the other will too. If one dies, the other will soon follow; in death, you will finally and truly become one.
The story of whom this mask was intended for is of such marvel that if it were inscribed with a needle on the corner of the eye, it would yet serve as a lesson to those who seek wisdom. It tells of a taunt the Devil intended to he who saw his beloved soul rise up to Heaven as its body fell down towards the ocean; of a sidereal love which reaches higher than the tallest peak and deeper than the ocean which surrounds the abode of men. Alas, I could not tell such a sad story, even if I had ten tongues with which to speak and ten hands with which to write. Accept this mask in its stead.
I was framed by Nathan Beast in this magic mask relay. Weird Writer, you're it. CROW, DELIVER US!