Mir looked through the mirror. Another person was staring back. He gently peeled the cracked skin from his face. He pressed the cotton pad over his eyes and smeared black ink. A new pair came into view. His pink lips bit over a napkin. Dry lipstick wet its surface. His hair tangled between his fingers and rebellious strands took over his appearance. Tired orbs kept the old image chained to the back of his head. Beauty is just skin deep. The same could work for personalities. Sometimes, masks are necessary. He chose one from the table and covered his pain.