Two faces hang upon a heavy stone wall. They are bound to the stone by heavy iron moorings and spikes dutifully hammered through the center of their foreheads.

One sculpted face is dark with dust and grime. Its heavy lips bear a harsh frown that has discouraged any and all well-meaning attempts to notice its plight. The copious amounts of long-accumulated dirt only serve to accentuate its terrifying expression.

The other face bears a warm, soft, upward-turned mouth. Though clean and bright with constant attention, this mask has been corroded by greedy touches. The individuality and beauty it once possessed has been worn away, leaving only vague curves and an ambiguous expression.

For centuries they have been trapped by the direction of their lips. For centuries they have been bound by the decisions of their maker. And for centuries they knew that was all they could ever hope to have.