Legends speak of the Mask of Flocci - an artifact of unimaginable power that sowed chaos and discord throughout the ancient world. The ancient scholar has varying depictions of the object. The Greeks described it as a mask made of pristine marble depicting Sock & Buskin, the mask of tragedy and comedy. The mask of Tutankhamun was said to be a loose replica of the Mask of Flocci. Its appearance varies; classical historians agree to that fact. They also agreed that its powers to imitate another's appearance is as much a myth as the mask itself.
Soon, the mask only appeared in the footnotes of old history books. It was forgotten - lost in the annals of history and myth. That remained true for hundreds of years until a certain young man in an undisclosed little town received a mysterious package in the dead of night.
No information about the carrier nor return address. Thom brought the box out of the porch to the living room. His older and younger brother, Jake and Liam, did not mention any package. Not even his dad said anything about a package in his name. Thom has a package, but it should be bigger than this. He flipped the box and saw his name written on the side. He guessed the box was his then.
Thom ripped it open. The package was thrown against the wall, temporarily forgotten in a bed of stinking discarded clothes. The thing inside is a mask. Strange, Thom thought. He ordered a four-stringed bass guitar, not some weird mask. And besides, this mask is giving him the creeps. Its color is flesh. If you angle it against the right light, the mask's color and skin are uncannily similar. Its surface is smooth like a baby's bottom bum cheeks. The mask is locked in an eternal neutral-look - two gaping eyes, a small nudge for a nose, and a thin line for a mouth. Touching it alone is giving him the creeps. Amidst that internal voice telling him to throw it away and send it to the hell hole it came from, a small part of him wants to keep it. It whispers in his ear, urging him to keep it close. The more he listened to its innate urge, the more its voice clung to him.
Thom's eyes quavered - conflicted.
"Bah!" He said, defeated. Even if he wanted to send this thing back, he lacks the money and the return address. He laid back in his bed and assessed the things he could do.