How is a Mask made?” My anger sparks, and I yank it back like I would the reins of an impatient horse. “I don’t understand what you want,” I say. “We’re made through pain. Suffering. Through torment, blood, and tears.” Cain sighs. “It’s a trick question, Aquilla. A Mask is not made. She is remade. First, she is destroyed. Stripped down to the trembling child that lives at her core. It doesn’t matter how strong she thinks she is. Blackcliff diminishes, humiliates, and humbles her. “But if she survives, she is reborn. She rises from the shadow world of failure and despair so that she might
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