Today's OneWord: Mask

Somehow, I can see right through your scheme. I can spot the face beneath your mask. I can count every scar you've collected throughout the years across your thinning skin. They form spider webs rather than constellations - cracks of age rather than strings of stars. You hold yourself upright, but your eyes beneath the plaster water, and not from the heat. Not from the strain. Not from the fatigue that you have brought upon yourself.