A Decisive Stamp

Basking under that banker's lamp was fine for a minute, but the heavy brass wax seal resting by the blotter caught my eye. Right next to it was a fresh stick of crimson sealing wax, softened near the warm bulb. An insignia left unpressed is practically an invitation. I hoisted the heavy brass handle with both hands, lined up the carved emblem right over the malleable red wax, and threw my entire weight downward with a solid stomp of my heel. A sharp, crisp crest bit deep into the cooling pool, flattening the edges into clean ridges. That territory is officially sealed under my name.