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The moment of recognition came not with a crash, but with a whisper. She was grading papers in her study, a single bead of sweat tracing the line of her jaw, when a student’s essay on the ritual cross-dressing of Carnival kings sparked something loose. “They put on the mask to find the face beneath,” the student had written. Delia set down her red pen. Her hands trembled. She walked to the bathroom mirror and for the first time in her life, she did not flinch.