You are cordially invited to the wondrous edition of Spotlight : Masks
Don your greatest gown or three piece suit and follow us through a ball of marvelous mystery. For the experience of your dreams and nightmares alike, we present to you false personas and hidden identities; masks adorned in October and those year round, to a victorian era dance and everyday life during, say, a pandemic.
Worn to protect, to disguise, to perform, and to entertain, we welcome you to a world of masks.
We promise that no one and nothing is as it seems.
Untitled
B Curtin
      I see him right away. Dapper white suit, sharp corners. Blond hair slicked back, immaculate. I am the darkness; he is the light. My mask threads of purple, green, silver- his red and gold. We are opposites- predator and prey, circling each other. I stop and curtsey to our gracious host, murmur a quick “Thank you for inviting me,” and move on.

And then.

He spots me through the throng. I don’t know how. He has hawk eyes, yellow and focused. Piercing my own. I can’t help but think that I wish I were his- if only for a second.  

But I am not. And when the feathery sleeves of my dress reveal a gun, and my bullet pierces his throat, and I am the only one to hear his scream- I feel no remorse.
White Fox Mask
Norah Smith
Everyone was someone else that night. Peacocks and wolves waltzed past her in a mesmerizing fashion. The hall was lit by the warm glow of the torches that lined the marble walls. Everything in this palace glittered, even the people looked like diamond encrusted porcelain. The ladies and dukes dripped with jewels and silk. 
The only thing she enjoyed about this cursed place was the windows and the rafters. Some poor mage was made to enchant them, so no matter what the weather outside, the night would always be a star spangled cloak of midnight and the days would always be filled with fluffy clouds and blue skies. Not that the King held many balls during the day- where would be the romance in that? 
She looked around at all the fabulous gowns. She herself wore a gown of white silk. A simple dress, finely embroidered with gold thread in whirling patterns across her bodice and skirt. The sleeves cut into points on her palms, hooking around her middle fingers. She wore no jewlery save for simple pearl earrings and a necklace. Her fox mask was encrusted with pearls and simple gold thread, the pointed nose and diamond cut eyes obscuring her so much that even her dance partners would not recognize her were they to see her on the street. Her gown was not the most frilly at the ball by far, but it was, for some reason, the most eye-catching. Perhaps it was her red hair that set it off. Or the simplicity of the dress that highlighted the complexities of the mask. 
She picked up a silver goblet filled with blood-like liquid and took a sip. 
Everything was in place, and now all she needed to do was wait. She danced around the room for hours until finally the doors of the hall cracked open, revealing a blonde girl in a blue dress, a blue butterfly mask obscuring her face, but White Fox was sure it was her. These royals and their fashionable lateness- it was quite inconvenient. 

Thanks for the Lesson, Hannibal Lecter
Eja Sharma
He dons a costume curated with great care and the generous aid of his father.
So delighted is he that he wishes to kiss Father’s cheeks. So giddy is he that he nearly bounces up the staircase to wake Mother.
Father’s suit jacket hangs squarely off his shoulders, scarlet tie askew no matter the time he wastes correcting it; Father’s slacks fall over the heels of loafers—admittedly a smidge too large in their own right; a pesky scarlet stain marks his shirt collar. Faults of little consequence.
His costume cannot be mistaken.
His mask is devastating perfection. A wisp of a giggle escapes his lips at the sight. Oh, how utterly fascinating, regarding the reflection of another in the mirror. He wears Father’s face rather well.
The familiar scent of cigars and firewood cling to the fibers of his costume. His eyes glint prettily under the yellow lights. Oh, how he has awaited this day. The anticipation nearly ruined him; truly. Plagued by the agonizing feel of his innards wrenching in knots and dancing between his ribs.
Footsteps sound above him. Oh, how he wishes to show Mother. Surely she will be impressed. Perhaps upon his return.
Time to go. 
He whistles quietly as he admires his costume one final time. Saunters out the door while carrying the tune. Halfway down the block, Mother’s screams interrupt his song.
She must have found Father’s corpse.
Disclosure
Hinata Derouin
He panted roughly, his breaths coming in short puffs and materializing like smoke in the air. The night was cold; the closed-off alleyway of the city street masking the noise of the cars honking in the roads but doing nothing to hide him from the prickling wind seeping into his bones.

He was away from the hustle and bustle of the city but swore he could still hear the sirens of the police whistling loudly in his ears, piercing the insides of his brain and juggling his inner nerves like a bumbling circus.

His mask was gone.

The sirens are replaying in his mind and he can see the crowd. It wasn’t even someone from his rogue’s gallery. A random onlooker on the street had grabbed hold of the cloth secured on his head and yanked it off with a force that only prying civilians would be able to pull.

Everyone knew who he was now. Surely it’s made its way onto the news. He felt so raw, like bandages were pulled off of a wound too early. No one would see him the same way anymore now that they knew who he was on the inside.

An imposter of the superhero they all knew. 
The Mask of Illusion
Olivia Ersil
A face lit
Only by the cold light
Of a cracked phone.
“How are you?”

The world spins
But it's familiar by now
​To those tired eyes.
“I’m okay, how’re you?”

A strong wind
Pushes itself through the
Trees behind glass.
“Oh, fine. How’s he doing?”

The tears want 
Nothing but to fall
As graceful as the rain does
“He can be something, you know?”

the walls squeeze
the tense shoulders sat beside
with an iron grasp of anxiety.
“Yeah, I do. Talk later?”

The familiar lump
Of a hoarse throat
Pulls itself higher.
“For sure, bye then.”

Heavy breathing
And a damp sort of chill
Filled the air with nostalgia.
“Goodbye, I love you?”

A mask of an illusion is 
All the words will ever be.
The truth would hurt too much.
“Goodbye.”
Untitled
Vee Dahl Schaaf 
In our society, happy is the norm
We have to be happy to be respected 
Have to keep a smile on our faces to be deemed acceptable
So we go down to the costume room
Find a smile that suits our faces
Find a laugh that fits our voices
And then we wait
Because we're not allowed to be sad
We’re not allowed to be weak
We’re not allowed to be imperfect
We keep our despair and our scars hidden
Hide our hurt behind a mask of our very own creation
Not not a mask of plastic or metal
No
A mask of flesh and blood
A mask that looks like our very own faces
Why can’t we be allowed to show what we feel without judgment?
Why can’t we be sad? 
Why can’t we be hurt?
But in the end, it doesn’t matter 
Because if we don't smile a random man on the street will tell us to
Because if we don’t smile respect for us will fade
Because if we don’t smile people will treat us differently
So we keep on that mask of flesh and blood
Keep on that fake smile
Because in our society
​Happy is the norm
Haunted
Charlotte Gilbert
Click, clack, click, clack.

​     My heels hit the pavement of the deserted street. Street lamps cause brief pockets of light, before I am then again plunged into the darkness of Halloween night. The kids are done trick or treating now, leaving the night for teens to prowl the streets. Or pitiful people like me, who couldnt get a ride from their best friend, and are left to walk in the dark to their party. Considering the time of year, the night air should have had me shivering, but instead I was starting to sweat under my choice of heavy coat. I speed up, wanting to get there as soon as possible to ditch this awful jacket, when I spot an alleyway to my right that would make the walk to the party much quicker. Halfway through the pathway, I take out my compact to check my appearance since I’m getting close to my destination. While pulling it out of my bag, I drop the compact on the grimy cement, covered in broken beer bottles and garbage that I hadn't noticed before. Cursing my best friend for this completely inconvenient walk, I hesitantly reach down to grab my dirty mirror. As I grab the compact in my hands, I look into the reflection, fixing my disheveled hair. Behind my reflection, down the alley, a tall man-like figure turns the corner. I freeze, slowly turning my head to watch as he begin walking down the path, making direct eye contact with me through the holes of a mask. I slowly stand up, my whole being telling me to run, scream, grab a shard of glass on the ground to defend myself, do anything. I back up, keeping my eyes on the him. The sharp click clack of my heels reminds me of how deathly my choice of shoes was. Running in pumps takes a talent that I most definitely did not have, and taking them off would mean cutting my feet on the shards of glass littered on the cement. I had time, he was still far away and moving at a leisurely pace. I turn around, moving as fast as I can while dodging debris in heels. I pivot back and my pulse quickens at how suddenly the figure is gaining on me. He walks through a section of light and the garish smile painted across the mask’s lips taunts me. My mind races, moving through each disturbing image I can conjure of horror movies that I've seen. Everyone dislikes the helpless girl in a horror movie, and now I was her, doe eyed and completely paralyzed. The figure is barely 10 feet away, and I know that I have no chance of reaching safety. I feel tears start to stain my cheeks, fear coursing through my body. I was going to die in a disgusting alley filled with trash. This disturbing mask was going to be the last thing I saw. He finally reaches me, and I'm crying so hard I can't even beg for mercy.

​“Hey, I needed directions to the nearest haunted house but I saw you crying and thought you might need help. If you could point me in the right direction though, my shift started 10 minutes ago.”
A Masquerade of Shadows
Kate-Lynn McGowan
Swirling shadows circling
Inching closer 
Pressing against skin

Their eyes invisible
Hidden behind masks
Dark feathers flowing from either side

A twisting warped dance
Frantic dizzying twirling spins
Falling over

Hundreds of hands
Reaching out, grabbing 
Holding you up

Powerless, out of control
Watch from afar as they let go
Your body falling down, down, down

Hideous smiles in the distance
As your mask falls off
Revealing a face streaked with tears

Mouth open in a soft gasp of surprise
Falling down, down, down
Into darkness.
Tainted Love
 Abigail McGhie
“I can’t marry you.” 
I didn’t know what to say. 
“Sorry, what?” I said.
“I just can’t.”
“You just… can’t. Helpful. We’ve been dating for years, Em! Couldn’t you have said something before now? Is it your family? God, I knew they didn’t like me-” 
“It’s not my family,” she interrupted, eyes downcast. “It’s me.”
"Oh, of course. Great line, super original-"
"No, you don’t understand! It's who I am! It's… it's what I am." She said, cutting me off again frantically. 
Then she looked up at me. Her eyes were… dark. Not hers. I stepped back, she stepped forwards.
“Emily?” I breathed, eyes widening. She stopped. Stared at me.
“It’s because of what you’re about to become.” She said, voice sounding like it was being pushed out of her by something that needed room, more room than my Emily had to give. 
“Emily!” I said, backing further into the wall. “Wh- are you okay?” 
“Would you like to know what you’re about to be?” Her face twisted into a sickening grin, like the corners of her mouth were being pulled up by hooks, teeth looking too white, too big, too… sharp. ​

Smile
​Julia Lam
A lawn chair was opened and in it she sat, a glass of aged whiskey in hand. She wore her favourite grey suit, though it was no longer crisp like it was after its morning iron. Black heels sat obediently to her right atop her purse, speckled in dirt. The smell of sunshine and sweat gave her a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in years and the sun was setting, a beautiful array of pinks and oranges reflected in her soft eyes. Slowly dozing off, a wave of hunger  pulled her out of her state of relaxation. Not to mention the clock, time was not on her side, slipping carelessly through her calloused hands. She got to work cleaning up.

A shovel laid used and discarded next to her chair along with a bottle of whiskey, missing roughly a quarter of its contents. Gloves were underneath where she sat, stained and covered in dirt. Below her hair, which was plastered to her forehead, rested the mask. Suctioned to her face with the sweat of many hours and fabricated of some sort of hard smelly plastic. It was one she picked up in a halloween section, two holes just big enough to see her sleepy eyes, though none for a nose or mouth. A dark sharpie smile was drawn on its front by her steady hand some weeks ago. She was so glad she could finally wear it out; putting it on - well it gave her a rush. She pried it off, giving it one last look. Running her finger over its surface and savouring every drop of power she held when wearing it, the power she could now hold even without. She threw it on the uneven mound of dirt in front of her, landing just clear of her freshly planted flowers. The chrysanthemums stood tall, already growing stronger from nutrients in the ground below. 

Then she got up, slipped her grimy feet in her heels and took a generous swig of the whiskey which gave her throat a satisfying burn. She dumped its remaining contents on the mound and threw the bottle and glass somewhere in the woods beyond. Smoothing out her hair and dusting off her blazer, she took extra care ensuring there were no stains on the silvery fabric. The lawn chair was quickly folded up and swung under her arm along with her purse, in which the filthy gloves were shoved. She sauntered off to her car, which was parked about 100 meters away in the thicket of the forest. Her things were promptly tossed in the backseat before she drove off, giving a one finger salute to what laid below the heap of dirt.

A sharp gust of wind hit the trees, carrying rumours and yellow flower petals. The mask still sat atop the grave, but something was different now. The wind had turned it over displaying a face, x's for eyes, messily drawn on its inside.
Batting Practice
Heidi Elder​
He looks at me, doe-eyed beneath his mask. The mask itself is a thin type of plastic, the cheap kind that would break in two with only the slightest application of pressure. It’s completely white, and strapped to his head by a thin elastic string. That too could be easily torn. The mask itself is almost completely white, opaque despite its flimsy nature. There is no place to breathe—no slit for his nose or mouth, only jagged holes he must have cut himself, only enough room for his eyes. He doesn’t say anything initially, not to me. I’m not the only person in the room but he doesn’t say anything to anyone else either. It’s like we’re watching a play. The bat in his hand might be made of that same cheap material for all we, the audience, knows. Except we’ve already seen the first act. We know it’s not.
Have You Met the Mask?
Ella Pegan
​They’ve met the mask
She laughs and she smiles
Hosts grand slumber parties
With a perfect profile

Come meet the mask
She’s performing all day
Her beauty unfractured
Sweet night and cold day

Have you met the mask?
Then you’ve met the girl
Don’t ask if she’s fine
Or she’ll start to unfurl

Such a pretty mask!
Many kisses on cheeks
Would my friends stick around
If they knew the real me

Don’t touch the mask
It’s fine where it is
She’ll never complain
So just mind your own biz

Do you see the mask?
It’s dragging her down
Your rules don’t make sense
It’d be easier to drown
BowserxMario, 60k, enemies-to-lovers, slowburn, forced-proximity, and-they-were-roommates, found-family, canon-defiant, emotional-turtle
Lizzie Hentschel
I’m the King of Bowser’s Kingdom
And a Prince of Mario Kart
Yet like poor lovesick Daisy
I’m The Queen of Broken Hearts

Though I may not be a Shy Guy
I do still wear a mask
And hiding my true feelings 
Is not an easy task!

If you look beyond my shell, 
Beyond my turtle glower
You will find a lonely king 
Who goes by name of Bowser

Mario, my Mario!
If only you could see!
I wish for the attention 
That you give to Princess Peach

I see you drive romantically
Down the Rainbow Road
And even young, naive Toadette
She gets to have her Toad

Everyone in this Thwompin’ Desert
Has somebody but me
Mario, my precious plumber
Won’t you set me free?

You could free me from my plight
With nothing but a ring
Make me Mr. Mario
And my poor heart would sing

Mario, please Mario
I’d cross Wario’s Gold Mine
or even all the Donut Plains
Just to call you mine
Theatrics
Isabelle Lush
The velvet curtain rises unveiling the dark stage below. The room is silent, as a spotlight illuminates the floor. A dark figure steps forward, blue robes billowing beneath him as he stands center stage. The music begins and violins come to life as a slow melody floats through the air. The figure begins to move. He glides across the stage dancing slowly to keep tempo with the song. Then he starts to sing. Lyrics of longing and feeling trapped within your own mind fill the theater as he continues to dance. Drifting over to the side he picks up a white drama mask, laced with gold details and slips it onto his face. He retakes center stage as the lights dim. The music takes a turn then, becoming louder and picking up pace. His movements becoming frantic and rushed with a sense of insanity overtaking the performance. The music gets louder and louder till it stops all at once. The man’s hands fall and for a moment everything is still.

​Then slowly, the melody creeps back in eerily quiet as the figure looks back up from his spot on the stage and then the music fades completely. There's a moment between then and the audience erupting in cheers, where the man shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath before returning to reality. The applause is deafening filling the room and matching the deep beating of his heart. He bows as the cheers continue and bouquets of orchids and roses are thrown onto the stage. The curtain falls once again and the man walks off stage. 

He doesn’t stop walking till he’s reached his dressing room and locked the door. The man makes his way over to the mirror and sits down. Then and only then does he reach up and remove the mask still adorning his face. Dark hair falls into his eyes as he stares back at his reflection, back at the cold eyes that meet him. Silver tears streak down his face as he releases a shaky breath. He looks down at his hands holding the mask and returns it to the shelf before leaving the room.

​
The True Mask
Tara Fitzgerald
Put it on gently,
Make sure the strings are tight
And it’s clamped at your nose. 
Don’t let it slip off,
Don’t let them see
What’s underneath.
Pimples,
Uneven teeth,
Dry, cracked lips.
Twisted smiles,
Melancholic faces,
Puzzled expressions.
If it really starts to pain you
Go somewhere private.
Rip it off,
Let it all out.
Deep breaths,
Cleanse your system.
Don’t take too long,
Make your breaks small.
Now put it back on,
Fasten it to your face,
​And get back out there.
Untitled 
Siwar Alrafati
I have forgotten
What my face looks like
I had fooled myself into thinking
I am pretty
I had almost thought 
That I was beautiful
But standing in front of my reflection
I am reminded
I am no Snow White
My face is covered
My mask
My veil
My shield
I dread the day I take it off
And shatter
My illusion