In The Manor, it doesn't take much for a candle to lose everything. It's all part of the cycle. What little they have can be relinquished by a single mistake; their minds, their bonds...

Their purpose.

For Thief Candle, to defy it was to betray his upbringing and the guild of thieves he once found meaning in.

That meaning was lost to the others, who continued to take more than they needed, believing they could ever be owed anything for their existence in the halls.

They saught to earn The Manor's Favor, and would steal to sacrifice anything... from anyone.

No longer were they looking out for themselves and eachother. They tried to convince themselves that it was all for a noble cause, that attaining the Manor's Favor would allow them to do far more for those less fortunate.

That's what they told themselves. Thief Candle felt otherwise.

He felt the guild's grace fall to resemble a crew of depraved bandits, acting out with no more indifference than the entities that roamed to seek their end.

The candles he once knew, the nights spent bonding over a brighter future...

It twisted him from the inside to see even the best of them turn to this pretence.

There was one, besides him, who hadn't.
She was a friend of his. The two shared the same name. Two thieves of a stolen purpose.
Her words carried on in his memory...
"We'll take it back, won't we? That sense of belonging..." "Don't you miss it? I..."
...
"Aren't you tired of feeling so alone? To be surrounded by so many whose light has left their eyes?"
"Tell me you've seen it, too..."
...
"It's The Manor we should be taking from, not candles... "
...
"I know it's hard... we... won't be able to turn back."
"There's... talk of a convoy, a small group of candles. This could be our chance... to disappear."

...
It was a pretty thought.

...


If only.

As it had turned out, there was one detail that was purposefully omitted by the organizer of the job...

They were to be dispatched to a checkpoint alongside a troop of brutish rogues. Those who once bore familial smiles, the grins now bearing the guise of a sinister leer.

Thief's expression remained unshaken, as he thought it had to, if they were to remain inconspicuous with their intent.

A silent, understanding glance was shared between the two defiant thieves...

This was more serious than they thought.

The two of them were at the back of the group, trailing behind as they headed towards the spot to await the convoy.

Thief watched the group's movements very carefully, noticing some of them were subtly looking back towards them.

Sparing a glance over to the other thief, he could see she looked tense. Her gaze was locked down the hallway ahead.

It was the most nervous he'd ever seen her...

Time had passed since they left the boundary of camp, into the true dim of the halls, lead by torchlight.

All throughout, he felt overwhelmingly alert, watching with unwavered focus for any sudden moves that may be made...

The further they got, the heavier the atmosphere became.
Each step, darker into uncertainty than the last.
Then, he felt... a lightlessness by his side.

...

She was gone.
Thief made a subtle stop to turn and look on into the corridor. Not a light to see.
He stood long enough for the crew to take notice. They caught on quick to what had occured.

...

"As it goes."

The Highwayman Candle split the small crowd to approach Thief. He was a candle with stories to tell, and the carves to prove it.
Once in a friendlier time, they would revel in his stories.
Though, with how fast he had adjusted to this new way, Thief couldn't help but wonder if there was more to the tales than he had let on.
After all, it's the ones who carry on who tell the tales.
...
He spoke, with a theatrically grim solemness.
"Ya' hear that?..." "...No. 'course you don't..."
...
"Tha's the sound shadows make, when they wake up." "Wasn't her that carried her away. A shadow."
"That shadow of doubt..." "-an' yet, you're still here." "...why'd you suppose that is?"

He stepped closer, in a mocking attempt at compassion.

"You know it, an' I know it." "This is our way, now." "We have to do more than survive."
"Th' Manor's Favor..." "...with it, we'll 'ave a true domain in the halls..."
"No more'll we have'ta waste resources movin' camp for every threat, nor scavenge fer scraps. The-"
"The candles we lost in those moves-..."
...
"You may think our life together was lost to us."
"I assure you, it wasn't."
"You may choose to join us. Or not." "All roads're rooted back to us."

Thief remained stationary, with his eyes still locked down the hall, his eyes squinted. Lost in thought.

The Highwayman patted his shoulder, and turned his head.

"Ah..."
"Right'on cue."

The crew, including Thief, turned to heed the approach. This was the arrival as it was expected, but the number of candles was... far overestimated.

A single candle, enshrouded in an off-black relic of a cloak.

Thief, from behind, caught a glimpse of the sides of the crew's faces. They were... grinning. This was his greatest telltale for what they've become. Not an ounce of remorse.

They... enjoyed it, the idea of this.

...and the candle, what was she doing here? Behind the layered cloak that enveloped her face was a flame of one too mindful for a place like this.

The way she carried herself betrayed her appearance, and it was clear to Thief that she wasn't from here. Not of this floor.

She was holding something dearly in her embrace, he wasn't able to get a clear view, initially. The others had moved in to surround the stranger.

Thief watched on as words turned from questions into demands, and a sudden escalation into a holdup. He turned his mind to the thought of slipping away, undetected.

...but he didn't.

He was studying the inexplicably calm demeanor from the candle in questioning, she didn't seem threatened. She wasn't scared, rather, she looked...

Emotionless. Her eyes; hidden, but he could see a face that wore a cold expression.

Cut short was his focus when the Highwayman struck the object in her hand with a sharp, downwards blow. It hit the ground violently, and the sound of shattering was shared amongst them.

Trailing on the ground was a scatter of fragments, few having slid their way from between the others' legs into Thief's view.

His eyes were quick to meet them on the ground-

...
Mirror shards.

Slowly, he kneeled before two distinct shards, staring down the middle- his face reflected in twain. His confliction before him.

He had never seen himself so clearly... For the first time, there wasn't dust, grime, or blood to obfuscate the candle that looked back.

His mind trailed to memories of clouded reflections of old glass containers and displays...

He lifted the two shards from off the ground to get a closer look, preserving the split image of his face.

...but before he could come to terms with it, his instinct noticed micromovements in the smaller fragments on the ground.

Something wasn't right. He felt no trembling in the floor...

A superstition pervaded the air around him, he stood and firmly clasped the shards.

Just then- the fragments dragged across the floorboards towards the stranger, unbeknownst to the group... their cruel hearted mockery masked the sounds they made.

The momentum of the shards picked up, and as he took a step back, a weightlessness plunged his arms, his hands- the shards...

...into the back of the Highwayman.

He only had time to grasp his own horror in the reflection of the implanted shards as he was met with a vindictive, roundabout slash that sent him violently careening onto the floor.

Crashed onto the ground, he clutched a terrible, searing pain at his side, bracing himself tightly. He could hear the sounds of a terrible conflict, and couldn't focus on any of it.

A silence fell, and a sudden thud next to him snapped his eyes open to the sight of a body, embedded with glass.

He rolled himself onto his back to meet a figure that shadowed him, looking up, it was the Highwayman- staring dead into Thief's eyes with a mortified look.

Upon a gathered glance, he could see the glow of candle blood was illuminating his face from below. It was... the Highwayman's neck-...

Thief, in vision blurring, looked on as the Highwayman Candle collapsed before him. His back, riddled with shards.

Behind him, stood the figure. Her eyes had made no movement, yet they were already locked onto his.

Her face... a smile. Faint, yet manic.
"I could see the way you were looking at them." She stepped closer as the glass fragments parted.
She motioned the shards to arise from the Highwayman's back... They dripped with his blood.
Eye contact unbreaking, the shards were tucked into his scarf. Continuing on, she walked past where he lay.
"A keepsake, should you need to reflect on your actions."

"..."
"I'll not tell of what happened here." "This, I promise."
"I've given you an out, and now the rest is on you." "...should you cling to life, of course."


...The figure took her leave.


...


...


...

...when he came to, he felt a sense of displacement. Something wasn't right, but elsewise wasn't wrong, either. He awoke in a strange room, a space between the walls.

The walls were layered in a thin black cobweb, and the only furnishing, an old dusty crate sat in the corner...

He felt a relief to the thorn of pain at his side, that deep cut was... cauterized, bandaged. Tended to.

A thin mat of canvas was laid beneath him, a rudimentary cot.

As he shifted, he noticed something that was placed on his chest fall to the floor.

... A note.