Collection: An Tine

The grate burns low. He lights the candle for the gasp.

The drop that finds exactly the wrong right place. The sharp inhale. The squirm as the heat spreads. The sadistic smirk that follows. The knife that comes after, slow, deliberate, unhurried as everything else He does.

The colours carry meaning. Blood red, the scarlet letter, immortality and passion in a single rivulet. Black, the shadow-self, mystery, power, authority and protection, and yet that little touch of evil lurking. The Metals, alchemy personified, wealth, luxury and decadence. Why not gild the things you covet.

An Tine. The fire that never quite goes out.

Pairs well with: The Whisky Room.