There are far too many candles and the way their scents combine makes the air far too heavy to breathe, yet they are strangely comforting - in some stupid, superficial way they make it seem like he knows what he is doing, even though I know they are just candles.

"I do know what I am doing, and they are not 'just' candles; I've made them all myself and each of them has a purpose," he says and I bite my lip although I have not said anything. "Trust me," he says and to my horror I realise for the first time since I've met him that I do not trust him, that agreeing to this is a big mistake, but it is too late, he is holding my hand and I know I'll do anything.

Also cross-posted to my ao3
https://archiveofourown.org/works/29201325