The flame danced purposefully, captured within the confines of an old lantern.
An amber glow flickering, reassuring in its rhythmic pulse.
Yet, behind glass, it whispered secrets of warmth turned wild.
Stories told by dappled shadows cast against the wall.
Listening closely, one could hear the flames telling tales of forgotten light.
"Fear not the flame," they said, "for we are but illusions, mirrors reflecting illusion."
The truth lay in their flickering fingers, caressing the air, daring the breeze.
And as they spoke, it felt both like a lullaby and a warning.