A Measure of Obsidian

A fresh stick of pale sealing wax lay upon the blotter this morning, boasting a far too frivolous shade of blush rose. Finding such garish optimism entirely uncalled for, I stepped toward an open lacquer box of antique wax seals. Resting beside it was a tarnished iron seal engraved with an unblinking raven's eye. I retrieved a miniature brass spoon laden with cold soot from the fireplace hearth. With steady, unhurried grace, I dusted the powdery charcoal across the tacky wax stick, rolling it between my palms until every pink trace was buried beneath a matte, obsidian coat. A thoroughly civilized correspondence now awaits.