After my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed candles, a lot of them. 47 to be exact—I counted. Most were assembled in small groups on the floor, on ledges, in corners, behind lamps, peering like malevolent jack-o'-lanterns.
The back half of the room was devoured by a curtain of inky black linen. No light could escape or enter. Was this the prelude to some unholy pagan sacrifice out of a fever dream? Were we about to be bled…