A figure stands before a worn, wooden workbench cluttered with tools and half-finished projects, the air thick with the scent of wax and smoke, as the individual, a woman with short, spiky black hair and a scattering of freckles across her cheeks, carefully trims a candle wick, the flame from the melting pool of candles casting an eerie glow on her worn leather apron, her hands move with precision and care, as if each movement holds significance, her eyes fixed intently on the wick as she works, the surrounding mountainside visible through the windows behind her, their rugged peaks shrouded in a veil of smoky haze, the camera lying abandoned on a nearby stool, its lens clouded with dust and cobwebs.