There once was a boy who loved candles. He liked to burn them in his bedroom and bathroom and sometimes in the basement. Fire fascinated him, but it scared him too, and he feared to extinguish the flames in the proper manner; by wetting his thumb and forefinger and pinching the wick after blowing them out. His air-smothered candles would billow smoke into the room, darkening the air and making it reek.

This angered the powerful Candle Queen, who laid a curse on him, that all of his most precious belongings would be plagued by wax. Sure enough, the candles he had once loved for their warm glow and pure light now sputtered and spilled, dripping wax over his bookshelves, his favorite bag – he grew disenchanted with them and ceased to light them. His home descended into darkness.

But one day he met a girl, a lovely young witch who loved candles, and used them to brighten and warm every room in her home. The boy was fearful at first that his curse would strike them both, but she was always cautious to pinch every wick, and for a while they were safe. She used her razorblade witchery to carefully pare the wax from his books and his shelves. The stained rucksack she sent to the home of her mother, a magician whose great powers caused all trace of the wax soaking the fabric to disappear.

The boy was illuminated with joy, but his happiness wouldn’t last. His delicate hands still had not snuffed a single smouldering wick, and so he continued to provoke the ire of the Candle Queen: her wrath would be known to him.

The Queen arranged one final, devastating incident. After a late, late night of burning pillars on the mantle, she worked her wicked magic through the hands of the young witch, causing a hot torrent of liquid wax to cascade over the boy’s brand new, ultra-thin network-compatible Sony Playstation. Her cruelty did not extend to the controllers, which were spared by being stored safely in the cubbyholes under the television stand. But the console was covered, utterly and irretrievably coated in multiple layers of wax.

The boy lamented. “Woe! My Playstation! Alas!” No hope was in sight. But the witch-girl remained calm. “Bring me a blade,” she said, “and I will make this right.” She retreated to the confines of the bathroom, and hours passed as she worked slowly upon the wax, cajoling it away from the black plastic casing. After all the layers had been peeled back and coaxed into the garbage bin, the matte surface still had not returned – shiny blotches of residue besmirched it’s surface like scars after the pox.

The girl would not admit defeat. Her bag of tricks was limited by the delicate electrical wiring of the box; no hairdryer or ice cube magic would be brought into the fray. Instead she ran the tap, hot, hotter, hottest! Then she plunged her hand into the steaming stream, clutching a white terry cloth rag. As soon as the cloth was saturated with the boiling water, she wrung it dry and scrubbed the surface with the scorching fabric. Lo, the wax relented, releasing it’s vice-like grip on the Playstation and retreating into the towel.

The Candle Queen saw that she could not conquer the indomitable spirit of the young pair; their love for candles and for one another was too great, and her hatred ebbed away. The boy and girl were careful not to rouse her anger again, but they knew they could not be dominated by fear, and they lived happily ever after.

The end.

(ps – Yes, this is a fancy way of me saying I spilled hot wax ALL THE HELL OVER Justin’s Playstation – seriously, I really fucked that shit up – but I was able with a razorblade, persistence and patience to restore it completely to it’s pristine state, because I? Am a wax magician. So is my Mum. I wish I had a candle/wax icon right now.)