Talk:Electoral Opportunism/@comment-2A01:E35:2FBA:21B0:9897:73BE:D83C:AA42-20190717170647

A candle lit:

Your secrets are written down on a sheet of vellum. It is folded, and sealed with crimson wax, then passed to a white-gloved auditor who presses a small brass button. Three minutes pass. A heavy wooden door is opened to admit a Senior Auditor, his arms over-burdened with Mourning Candles. Before the door closes behind him, you glimpse a few pinpricks of dolorous luminescence. "Brought all the way from the Tomb-Colonies. They give little light and less comfort – as it should be." The Auditor lights one with a long match. It burns slowly, its light reluctant. "Be careful who has access to these."

I hope I'm doing this right.