Here lie the faces of the unloved, all of whom remain
etched in madness, sealed in grief, and preserved in
suffering.
Choose carefully,
as each mask harbors a tormented
soul whose story demands to be worn, remembered, and
endured.
He was a soldier shaped by fear, blinded for seeing visions of the dead. In darkness, his terror grew until he fell from the tower where he once stood guard.
A boy came for the mask. I warned him, but he insisted. The Sentinel stole his sight, sharpened his senses, and filled his mind with dread.
He screamed until silence fell. After that, his home stood empty.
Now the mask has returned, waiting on his stand. And he's already chosen his next host.
