The Fraud Circle: A Thousand Masks

The air grew colder as I descended into the Eighth Circle of Hell, the domain of Fraud. The landscape here was unlike anything I had seen before—fractured bridges and deep pits stretched into the darkness, each pit glowing faintly with a sickly yellow light. From the distance came faint whispers, growing louder as I approached: promises of riches, confessions of love, and reassurances that “everything will be fine.” But each word dripped with deceit. My guide stopped at the edge of one glowing pit and motioned for me to look inside. At first, I could see nothing but shadows flickering against the faint glow. Then I saw them—the figures. They were people, hunched over, each holding a glowing mask in their hands. The masks were beautiful, intricate, and eerily lifelike, each one more convincing than the last. But the figures behind the masks were hollow-eyed, their faces pale and gaunt, like empty shells. “What are they doing?” I asked my guide. “They are the deceivers of the digital age,” he replied. “In life, they wore masks of their own creation—profiles built on lies, crafted to manipulate, exploit, and confuse. They created false realities for others, feeding off trust and truth. Now, they are condemned to endlessly craft new masks, each one more elaborate than the last. But every time they put one on, it burns into their skin, leaving them more disfigured, more hollow.” I watched as one soul held out their mask—a dazzling, golden visage of beauty and charm. They hesitated, as if they could sense what was coming, but the need to wear the mask overwhelmed them. As they placed it on their face, they screamed. The mask fused to their skin, searing and warping their features. Yet, even as they screamed, their hands reached for another mask, compelled to repeat the cycle. In another pit, I saw souls hunched over glowing devices, scrolling endlessly. On their screens were false promises and fabricated lives, the same illusions they had once peddled. Now they were forced to believe their own lies, trapped in a never-ending maze of their own making. “What kind of lies did they tell?” I asked. “Some promised fame, others love,” my guide said. “Some created schemes to rob the unsuspecting, while others spread falsehoods for power. They preyed on hope and trust, weaving webs of deceit that ensnared countless souls. Now, they live in a world where every truth is a lie, and every lie is a truth. They can no longer tell the difference.” As we walked further into the circle, I noticed a figure standing still, clutching a mask in one hand and a glowing tablet in the other. Their face was blank, featureless, like a slate wiped clean. They seemed paralyzed, torn between putting on another mask and looking at the screen. “What happens to them?” I whispered. My guide’s voice was grim. “They become what they created—nothing. Their lies consumed everything real about them, and now there is nothing left.” I felt a chill run down my spine as I turned away from the pits. The whispers of promises and lies followed me, a haunting reminder of how easily truth can be twisted, how easily trust can be betrayed. In this circle of Fraud, I saw not just punishment, but reflection—a dark mirror of the world above, where masks are worn, truths are bent, and the cost of deceit is often invisible until it is too late.