This is more than an image. It feels like a physical touch on the threshold between who you truly are — and who the world sees.

A moth rests on a woman’s face, wings spread like whispers. Weightless, almost. But that weightlessness is misleading — it carries a strange density, like a fine silk veil settling on the skin after rain.

Its wings seem to be marked by eyes. Not your ordinary eyes, but the kind that see through — into layers, stories, truths. Or is it illusion? Do they see you… or just the reflection you’ve carefully crafted?

This moment is a space between worlds:
Between truth and appearance. Between your essence and the version of you shaped by perception.
It doesn’t demand answers. It simply invites you to pause — to look, if you dare. Like a mirror you didn’t expect to hold up this close.

This is a story about masks — how they begin as shields, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, become part of the skin.
And one day, you don’t know anymore — is it still you behind the mask, or has it begun to look back at you?