Extinguishing the Vigil

The quiet of late night claimed the hearth. At the far corner of the dark timber shelf rested a small amber glass votive, its wick faintly smoldering with a thread of cedar smoke. I advanced across the polished grain, my cape trailing over the brass studs of a nearby matchbox. Beside the vessel lay a miniature brass snuffer, its cone tarnished and heavy. Gripping the slender handle with my left hand while resting my saber upright, I guided the bell over the rim until it descended precisely over the glowing ember. Darkness sealed the chamber. The perimeter is secured for the night.