A mask.<br/><br/>Tamsyn's face was a mask, graciously accepting the severed ribbon from Danae. The shears were quite sharp, after all, and rid Danae of her burden without complaint. In the attic of the mind, new space opened where accursed things once squat in disrepair, and why should that not bring joy? A world of thrilling possibility opened up, scented with the freshness of Spring after the rain, space enough to dance and delight and once more frolic bereft the claustrophobic press of regret. No more narrow paths, prescribed by a lifetime of hard lessons learned.<br/><br/>Now more brides came to Danae, one by one, as the mind whirled to spin again the face of Tamsyn and conjured instead the nearly forgotten, and matron among them, Polly.<br/><br/>"Give up all of your pain," Polly pleaded.<br/><br/>Polly's fingers were at home in Danae's hair, comforting a wild animal of its destructive urges. Three more pairs of hands were on Danae's body, exposing the skin, finding ribbon beneath the surface. A web, a red web braided from hand to hand, awaiting only the slice of shears to truly eviscerate Danae of her burdens.<br/><br/>"And I will show you my face, if you wish it. I will have a proposition for you, then, but we must make space for it in your heart. Begin again with me, as you have so many lesser women. I offer you fulfillment. I offer you authority. I offer you the cane."