The cloth of the hero's mask felt like a bunch of needles stinging your hand. A soft gasp escaped your dry lips as you witnessed the exposed face before you. All the excitement and yearning running through your blood at the thought of revealing the hero's identity quickly drained. Your lover's gaze was colder than the gentle winter breeze biting on your skin. Was it hate? Hurt? Hostility? your trembling hands reached out to him. To your enemy. To your lover.

He backed away.