The drawing room of Starfell Manor stank of desperation masked by expensive candles.
The wax had burned down to stubs, the flames guttering in their holders as they consumed the final inches of material that cost more gold per pound than most commoners earned in a month.
The Earl couldn't afford replacements, but he also couldn't admit that fact by extinguishing them early and sitting in darkness like some peasant who couldn't maintain proper illumination.
The candles burned, their light casting shadows across furniture that had once represented generations of accumulated wealth and now served as reminders of how quickly fortune could abandon those who made catastrophically poor decisions.
Earl Starfell stood before the fireplace, his back to the room as he stared into flames that provided more honest heat than the expensive candles ever would.
