The Masks We Wear, The Lies We Tell

In the dimly lit chambers of my home, I sit surrounded by the trappings of my trade - the silken fabrics, the delicate kimonos, the carefully crafted illusions. As a geisha, a mistress, a keeper of secrets, I wear many masks. The one I present to the world is one of elegance, of refinement, of subtle charm. But behind this façade, I hide a thousand lies, a million half-truths. It’s a delicate balance, one that requires a precision that’s almost surgical. And yet, it’s a game I’ve mastered, one that I play with ease, with a calculated cruelty that’s both beautiful and brutal.

I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of the doppelganger, the idea that there’s a shadow self that exists alongside our true selves. For me, that doppelganger is the sum total of all the personas I’ve created, the various masks I wear to suit the needs of those who pay me. There’s the gentle geisha, the alluring mistress, the soft-spoken confidante. Each one a carefully crafted illusion, a web of deceit that’s almost impenetrable. And yet, it’s a fragile thing, this delicate balance of truth and fiction. One misstep, one miscalculation, and the entire edifice comes crashing down.

As I sit here, surrounded by the whispers of my clients’ deepest desires, I’m reminded of the words of a great poet: ‘the truth is a fragile thing, like a spider’s web, it’s easily broken, but once shattered, it’s impossible to repair.’ I’ve lived by these words, lived by the principle that the truth is a luxury I can ill afford. And so, I wear my masks, I tell my lies, and I play the game of deception with a precision that’s almost surgical. It’s a cruel, beautiful thing, this dance of truth and fiction, and one that I’ll continue to play, with all the skill and subtlety at my command.