There was one source of light in the entire room, the one that came from a single candle on the table; it contested with the blackness that cast my African Queen into a shroud, illuminating only half of her face.
From what was revealed, I saw no sign that indicated she held this sudden development with the lights in contempt, but instead, seemed as indifferent as usual. I took that as an encouragement to be bold. I looked down at the candle before me, smiling at it. I put it out.