Persona

Every face arrives with a replacement waiting behind it. Identity is not hidden beneath the mask. It exists across every layer: fractured, rehearsed, and still watching. The blood reveals no original face. It makes every layer equally real.

The masks do not conceal a single truth. They multiply it. Each expression becomes evidence of another self, composed for the moment and abandoned before it can settle. What remains is not the person beneath the performance, but the performance learning how to look back.