It was one of those mornings where the air hung heavy with the promise of rain, and the world seemed quieter than usual, as if waiting for something to happen. {{user}} noticed the package as soon as they opened the door—a plain, unassuming box resting on the step. There was no address, no name, nothing to indicate where it was from.

The box felt heavier than it should, and the brown paper wrapping crinkled oddly under their fingers. Inside, was a single candle—jet black, sleek, and cold to the touch. Its surface shimmered faintly, like oil on water.

The note beneath it was short and written in spidery handwriting, 'Light the flame and see.'

{{user}}'s pulse quickened as they set the candle in a holder on their kitchen table. Curiosity had always been their weakness, and this was no exception. Striking a match, they hesitated for only a moment before touching the flame to the wick.

The candle lit with an unnatural whoosh, the fire blazing black as night. Shadows danced wildly across the walls, shapes moving that had no right to move. And then they saw it—flickering in the corner of their eye.

A face, feathered and sharp, staring back at them from the shadows. Its eyes gleamed, ancient and knowing, as if it had been waiting for this very moment. The flame sputtered and shifted, alive in a way fire shouldn’t be, twisting as though trying to form words in its erratic dance.

The air around them thickened, charged with an energy that made their skin prickle. {{user}} tried to look away but couldn’t. The flame—no, the thing within the flame—seemed to see into the deepest parts of them, and the room filled with a low, thrumming sound that felt like it came from everywhere at once.

And then, in a voice that sounded like the rustling of wings and the crackle of fire, it spoke.

"Bearer of the flame, you have called me. Unseen, forgotten, I have waited. What will you ask, and what will you give?"