[ Don't scare him, his supposedly nameless rescuer says, but it's far too late for that -- years too late, really. Fear is an old companion, familiar but no less galling for it. ]

[ Just like the weight of the mask that these strangers -- three now, his blond rescuer, the locksmith, and now this swordsman -- are all bending their wills to get off of him. The sense of unreality makes the edges of his thoughts waver. To have help -- to have people around him, adults, who want to see him freed of it, who are concerned about him feeling the fear that has always marked him as less... ]

[ It's amazing. ]

[ But that doesn't stop him from shrinking back a little against that supportive hand. The clink of the sword being loosened in its sheath isn't reassuring. Is this newcomer going to cut the mask? ]

Thank you...

[ Cutting him or not, this man just showed up and already intends to free him. He never thought the world might be full of people like this. ]