The violinist with the wolf mask played every evening in the town square, no matter what the weather. They had a large repertoire, playing everything from classic folk ballads to hard rock. Perry could hear them from his window, and often went down to listen.

One night when the violinist was packing up, Perry plucked up the courage to ask why they always wore the mask.

“It was part of a trade from a fairy,” they replied. “She granted me great musical ability, but in exchange I cannot take this mask off.”

“Is there no way to undo it?”

“She said true love’s kiss would break that part of the spell while retaining the music.”

Perry, who had developed a crush on the violinist after hearing them play for so long, shyly reached up and kissed the musician on the mouth. The was the brief flash of light and the smell of woodland and ozone, and the violinist pulled off the mask. Their hair was long and unkempt, their face in need of a wash, but their smile was dazzling.

“Well,” they said, pulling Perry close, “it seems I am in your debt.”

“Your music brought joy back to me,” replied Perry. “It is all the payment I need.”

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