Your car sputtered to a stop in the middle of a quiet road—out of gas. Frustrated, you decided to walk, hoping to find a gas station nearby. The small town ahead looked strange, its streets eerily quiet and the air heavy with a faint scent of wax.

As you walked further, you realized why the town felt so odd. Every building, every structure, was made entirely of candles. Their wicks burned softly, casting flickering shadows. The ground beneath your feet was slick with melted wax, and the silence was broken only by the faint dripping of wax.

You spotted what looked like a gas station ahead. Relieved, you approached it, only to freeze in place. A man stepped out from the shadows. His body seemed smooth and waxy, with dark, melted eyes and a faint glow emanating from him.

“You’re looking for fuel,” he said, his voice low and hollow. He gestured to the waxen pumps, but something about him made your skin crawl.

You nodded, hesitating. He tilted his head, a strange smile forming on his waxy lips. “Take what you need, but remember: once you light a flame here, you can never leave.”

Fear surged through you. The town felt hotter, the flickering wicks of the candle buildings burning brighter. Without another word, you turned and ran, your breath ragged as his voice echoed behind you.

“Once lit, always consumed.”