this is more of a mood than it feels like it should be. i, too, feel like the hollowed-out remnants of what was once a person, animated by forces beyond my understanding into some vague semblance of life, just-barely-convincingly enough that nobody ever bothers to look further into it.

maybe Candles once felt the same way. maybe this is one final act of reshaping oneself in his image, filtered through what was once his domain. maybe he was haunted by the repeated intrusive thought that there was nothing of him but a candle, that under his skin all he'd find was wax and a wick for a spine. maybe this concept, as many others, festered in dark water until it grew into a ritual.

or maybe this is mundane body horror that i'm projecting a lot of my own struggles on to. who knows, really?