Part of the Oracle Series. A mask on a stick splits down the middle, one half smiling with raised brows, the other half crying. The hand holding it up is pale, and blood drips down the handle, the price paid to keep the mask in place. Behind it, a dark figure has lost the definition that makes them who they are. “Fine” is the word we say when we are anything but, and this piece asks what it costs to keep saying it.