My mother always said that if you can't be happy, you should try to make others happy. So, ever since she died in the great war, that's what I've been trying to do.
Carefully, so carefully, I brush the accumulated dirt and filth from my newest acquisition. It was brought to me just this morning, pulled from the depths of Lake Hylia. The fisherman who sold it to me thought he was making a tidy profit from a bit of junk, but he barely realized what he had.
They call me the Happy Mask Salesman. It's simple enough; I sell masks that make people happy. No one remembers my real name, not even me. I supposed I must have had one once, but now it's as forgotten and dusty as this old mask. I can't even remember what my mother used to call me. Come to think of it, I can't remember what she looked like. How odd. I wasn't even that young when she died.
I've always felt drawn to masks. I'm not sure why. They're wonderful things. They can hide you away from the world, turn you into someone else. Everyone has something to hide. Whether they admit it or not, everyone likes to get away from themselves, even if it's only for a little while.
It's taking shape beneath my fingers as I clear the grime away. It's made of some sort of ceramic that's as hard and white as bone. It looks like the skull of some ancient creature. Yes, that's what I'll call it. The Skull Mask.
Looking at that mask's skull face stirs something in me, some hidden memory. I can't quite pull it to the surface. There's something dark inside my very soul. I've known that all my life, but I've never been able to figure out what it is. I have flashes, bits of dreams that I can't quite put together. For some reason, I'm never truly happy unless I'm with my masks. They're the key to all this. If I just find the right mask, I'll find out who I am.
Finally, I'm done. The Skull Mask gleams like new. I set it on my store's shelf and wait for the opportunity to let it help someone. The door creaks open. My smiling face is as composed as any mask.
Just have faith...