Shattered Earth, Lightened Heart

The ochre-rich clay of Ma'danhir yields easily beneath my fingers, cool and damp. Above me, in the fathomless night, the twin moons observe in silence: Shali, a slender curve, whispers of fragile promises, while Sahar's full circle, spills a soft, ethereal glow that washes the land in silver and blue fire. Here, today, I sculpt a face I no longer wish to wear.
The clay in my hands takes shape slowly, the contours of my past self emerging : the furrowed brow of worry, the tight-lipped expression of unspoken grief, the downcast eyes that have seen too much darkness. With each careful press and pull, I bestow the mask with the burden I carry:

the sharp sting of betrayal

the empty echo of loss

the dull ache of unfulfilled dreams

the brittle shell of fear that keeps me bound

The features emerge slowly, as if rising from the deep waters of the swamp itself, but soon I stare into the face of my inner turmoil. The clay remembers all: the tension in my jaw, the slump of my shoulders. It holds the shape of the burdens I long to shed.
Forging a mask takes hours, sometimes days, but once its form is complete, I carry the wet clay mask deeper into the Marshes, towards a patch of ground known as the Still Mire. It's one of these places where the veil feels thin, where the land itself seems to breathe and listen. Generations have brought their masks here, to shed the past for a new tomorrow. I settle the mask onto the cool, yielding earth, focusing all my will, my desire to let go the past, into the clay. As the moons climb higher, their gentle light bathing the mire in soft shadows, I can feel a subtle shift. The clay, still damp to the touch, begins to firm, forged by the mystic energy and my yearning for change.
At the end of the night, the breaking of my mask will come. It will not be an act of violence, but one of freedom. With a smooth stone, gathered from the dry riverbed, I will strike the mask, again and again. Each shard that falls away will be a piece of the old me, a layer of my old self shattered and gone. The fragments will return to the earth, becoming one again with the very heart from which they came. And as the ochre dust settles, I will stand unburdened, my face open to the soft moonlight, ready to create a new future, free from yesterday's pain.