Nullion — The Hollow Grin

The face he wears
was never his own.
Eyes are voids,
the smile a theft.

Nullion was not born with a visage. His skull was smooth and featureless, his mouth a seam that never opened. He wandered faceless until he found the Codex, and it offered him a gift — or a curse. It gave him flesh, but not his own.
 
He now carves faces from others, peeling skin to drape across his bone. The eyes he cannot take — those remain hollow voids — but the mouth he sews too wide, stretching it into a grin that splits into silence. Each smile he wears is borrowed, each feature stolen. But the Codex laughs through him, for every mask rots into his flesh until nothing is left but a grinning husk.
 
Some say if you stare too long into his eyeless sockets, you’ll see a reflection — not of yourself, but of the face he means to take next. And when he comes, he will not kill you at once. He will carve your visage slow, wearing it while you still breathe, leaving you faceless in the dark.
 
The Codex names him the Hollow Grin — not man, not mask, but theft itself. A walking gallery of flesh, a smile that devours identity.