Virgil looked up at the morning sun, peering through the grates of the sewers. He was on a mission now. He knew the dangers, he knew the risk, but he wanted to be down there in that muck. He changed his armor into something more suited for his mission. As he changed in the dawn's rays, a memory surfaced within his mind...
Virgil walks the quiet, dead streets of the village. He walks by his mother's side. She holds his hand and he can feel the warmth of it. He basks in it. These nights are special. Nights such as this one, Virgil can enjoy a short walk with his mother. He can enjoy the fresh air, even if he can't see the sun, he just enjoys being out of the stinky wine cellar. He looks up at his mother and she looks back down at him. He cannot see her face under her mask, but the eyes that stare down at him are full of love. This, he remembers most of all. The touch of her hand, the look in her eyes. It is that affection that makes him feel loved. It makes him feel alive.
His face begins to itch, so he starts to pull up his mask to itch it, but his mother slaps his hand away in anger.
"Keep your mask on idiot!", she scolds.
"Why do we have to wear these masks Momma?"
His mother sighs and bends to one knee, peering at him through the openings in her mask. She says, "We wear them because our faces and names can be used against us. It is important that our secrets stay secret. The less people know about us, the less power they have over us. Our secrets give us power over others. They do not deserve to know who we are." She places her hand on his shoulder before rising to her feet.
"Do the others at the party deserve to know our names and faces?", he asks.
"No, they do not. No one does at these parties.", she says continuing to walk down the empty street. Virgil touches the featureless wicker mask on his face and understands. He understands that secrets are important for survival. Secrets are only for those truly deserving.
...Virgil sighed as the memory of his mother faded back into the void. He stared down at his wicker mask. the weave runs vertical up the face opening slightly where his eyes would be visible. He dreaded putting the mask on, but he truly was best suited for this task. He was still unknown, still fresh. No one would miss Virgil. No one would go looking for him. He didn't like being reminded of his past, but he feared that only by revisiting his past, could he complete his task and help his lost friend.
