The Happy Mask Salesman flitted about his small shop, turning newly displayed masks to perfect angles and humming a light tune. Tomorrow would be a good day. He just knew it. The festival always proved to be absolutely wonderful on his typically empty pockets. It made up for the rest of the year where money and mask-wearing children were a little more scarce.

He counted exactly fourteen handmade, wooden masks - the finest - as he hung them. There were of course many more behind the counter. There was no doubt that there would be far more than fourteen people at the festival. It was a sort of trade secret. If it looked like there weren't enough masks for everyone, people were more likely to buy them at a higher prices.

Once all the masks were straightened, he recounted - fourteen. But his collection, however colorful and creative, seemed a little lackluster. An idea came to his head and he made a sound of sudden excitement. He ran behind the counter, producing a colorful, heart-shaped mask with horns around the rim and huge orange eyes. He grins at it. Majora's Mask.

Of course, it wasn't the [i]real[/i] Majora's Mask. That would be asking for trouble. But it would certainly attract people. Most likely older people who knew the legend of the child who stole the mask. It would be more of a sentimental value - the memories of the bedtime story would likely light up the faces of the people who entered the shop.

He walked over to his display, placing the mask in the center. He thinks for a moment before deciding on a price. The other masks ranged from seventy-five rupees to one-hundred and fifty. He tacked a tag on it that indicated that the mask could be bought for four-hundred. There was only one in his stock of course. It wouldn't make any sense to sell it for the same price as the others.