The Labyrinth of Skins

A labyrinth of skins, a labyrinth of many wondrous skins…

She is the Mistress of Disguise, the last bearer of an art so ancient that even Time reveres with a silent reverie.

Her true form is not known by anyone, her transformation and her guise having taken upon so many forms that even the Mistress herself was lost within its many faces – having long forgotten her true form.

Her mysterious playground paid heed to no one but her, for whoever could come through its door would first have to go through an arduous and grueling initiation; and only those who have earned the mark of Transformation would earn the right and the curse to enter through its doors.

Every night when the Moon shone full in her regal splendor, the Mistress of Disguise would once again shed the skin that she was wearing to put on another – thus starting yet a new story, never staying long enough to learn the ending of the story before.

No, her role was not to stay for the ending – but to start new beginnings; for she is the Catalyst.

Through the ages, Mistresses of Disguise have taken upon the role of being the catalysts of this world; through their actions and by their hands alone, shaping the history that the world knows today.

To the Mistresses, there is no Right, nor is there Wrong – morals and ethics do not bind her, compassion carries no meaning for her, all that matters is that Fate must take its course. History is fore-written, and history is absolute; that itself is the decree of the Master of the Universe.

The Mistresses are appointed by the sole divine powers of the Universe, a calling so mystical and unexplainable, except that the Mistresses’ were solely created for the purpose for which they were to serve.

In the mystical labyrinth, Light and Dark joined their bodies to form Nothingness – their very nature canceling out the presence of the other so that Nothingness is birthed through their union. In this space where it is neither light nor dark, the Mistress will undergo her next transformation; before taking her rightful place in the world that we know.

None of her actions are ever by chance, where she goes, what she does, who she meets and what words come out of her mouth – all are premeditated, premeditated to form the seamless, flawless symphony of life. All is done so History unfolds as it is meant to unfold.

The Mistress divulges no emotions whatsoever, it is not their role to display any emotions – they come only as a Cause, the Cause that results in the reaction desired. Like clockwork, like a mechanical device, the symphony that they orchestrate hits each key with an inhuman perfection.