“No,” she whispered.

And behind the velvet, in the dark hollow where her face should have been, a thin smile was already beginning to form.

Elena didn't answer. She just tilted her head, let the gold filigree catch the fluorescent light, and walked out.

The change was not dramatic. There was no flash of lightning, no demonic voice. She simply felt her shoulders unclench. She looked in the mirror and saw not Elena—the one who forgot to pay bills and wore the same gray cardigan for three days—but a stranger. A woman with secrets. A woman worth noticing.

The mask arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a frayed piece of twine. No return address. No note. Just the faint smell of dust and old theater.

That night, out of boredom or loneliness, she put the mask on.

On the fifteenth day, a second package arrived. Same brown paper. Same frayed twine.