Prose that begins:
You have never seen your face before. Faces, your mother said, are to be hidden. They are secret and ugly things, never to be shown even to yourself. For as long as you can remember,you have worn a mask. The first one you can remember was simple but ornate. Glossy and white, with thorny roses and vines carved into its moon surface. A flash of pink lips and star blue eyes were the only colour splashing your face then; your mother took a risk by allowing your lips to be seen by others.
The Peregrine Review: Vol. 33, Article 37.
Available at: https://mosaic.messiah.edu/peregrinereview/vol33/iss1/37