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Squeezing the 'stick-decanter between your knees, you check to make sure that your finger is firmly seated in the keyway, then you bend down and tenderly blow out the flame, hoping to avoiding any spattering. Everything descends into a stark blackness, rolling and shifting around you as your eyes try to adjust. You wait. Not on account of your eyes, as there is - to your knowledge, at least - no light here from them to adjust to, but for the candle. You want the wax to cool and solidify before you move it. So you spend the next thirty seconds or so praying. Praying for Wisdom, for strength, for the Boon of the tablescraps you helped yourself to, and for your father's - and your mother's - safety. You finish with a prayer for the Lepers of the Midden, that they may yet be given a chance to Prove themselves worthy of respite, either in this Realm or the next. Hesitatingly, you grope your way to the tip of the candle, and poke at it, relieved to find that it is merely warm and quite solid. Pleased with yourself, you win the candle free from the mouth of the decanter with your free hand, then after checking it once more you slip it into one of the pockets of your riding cloak. You pause a moment to collect yourself, then you carefully take up the decanter. Carefully, you position the decanter in the darkness, so that its mouth is flush and abutting your right little finger. It occurs to you that without light at the start of the process, you very well might end up pouring more - or less- of the water than you intend to. That is ... well, bad. That is bad. But as you cannot do anything about it, you just raise the decanter a little higher, then after a particularly deep breath, you tip it.
For a hair of a moment, you start to panic that you have moved the decanter too far away, and the water is just going go to waste - but then the water begins to wash over your finger and into the lock, as relief washes over you. Not wanting to waste a drop, you initialize your cast and immediately, you can feel the raspy warmth in your mouth, under your tongue - and behind your eyes, which are throwing off just enough light for you to see that a fair bit of the poured water is missing its mark. You bite down a squeal and work to reposition the decanter better, as the tip of your finger goes numb. You are seriously considering throttling the cast close when all of a sudden the water flowing over your finger grows cold, your eyes start putting off much more light, and you can just barely the ice starting to form and push deeper into the keyway. You give it a count of five, then you start working your finger out of the lock, drawing out the 'shank' of the 'key'. By the count of twelve, there is a solid-looking Mystery sticking out of the lock. With your left hand, you stop your pouring, and with your right hand, you take up the Mystery and turn it, just as you would turn any key. The lock springs open, and you shiver with relief at the sight.
