Candles
The candle flame whirled to and fro, casting a symphony of light upon the imposing white marble walls of the grand mansion, which was perched atop the highest point of the Whitehills Estate. Through the cascading torrent of rain, the midnight darkness pierced the mansion’s glass façade, though failed to thrust itself beyond the candle light. The flame wavered upon an intricately detailed slender stem, the bronzed edges licked with dried wax.
The Whitehills estate was known for a myriad of reasons, ranging from political ignominy and prestige to being home to the wealthiest (and most scandalous) family in the land. At eighty-nine years of age, Walter Whitehill, the youngest living Whitehill, at eighty-nine years old, was the single most accomplished, wealthiest, arrogant, and egotistic (though some would say quite deservedly so) man in the entire country. He had settled wartime conflicts between the most powerful countries in the world, and had also started them, although the end always justified his means of getting there. All three of his sons had died in battle and had beenwere posthumously bestowed with the highest military honours attainable, which essentially served also to boost Walter’s reputation. Or – and having been posthumously awarded the highest military honours it was in their nation’s command to bestow, served in death to bolster their father’s reputation even more than they had in life. Walter’s wife, Mary Whitehill, however, simply died of pneumonia ten years had been carried away ten years hence by mere pneumoniaago.; Iit hit him particularly hard, although itshe did notdidn’t do much for his reputation.
And here’s that first paragraph again, with even more liberties taken. I think this is the effect you’re going for though.
The candle flame twirled to and fro, casting a symphony of light upon the imposing white marble walls of the grand mansion, which hunkered gravely atop the highest mound of Whitehall Estate. Through the cascading sheets of rain, the darkness of midnight flattened against the glass façade of old hall, and attempted to penetrate the room, although it failed utterly to squelch the light of the candle above the hearth. The flame danced upon its slender stem, intricately carved with the heralds of bygone days, its bronzed edges licked with ossified waxen tongues. [or – tongues of wax, or – streams of wax]
Whitehill Estate was well known to most for any number of reasons, for its many intrigues both political and personal over the long years, but principally for being home to the wealthiest (if not the most scandalous) family in the land. At eighty-nine years of age, Walter Whitehill, now the youngest living member of the family, was the single most accomplished, wealthiest, arrogant (though some would say, deservedly so) man in the entire country. He had settled wartime conflicts between the most powerful countries in the world, and had also started them, though the ends always justified his means. All three of his sons had died in battle, and having been posthumously awarded the highest military honours it was their nation’s pleasure to bestow, served in death to bolster their father’s reputation even more than they had in life. Walter’s wife, Mary, however, had been carried away some ten years hence by mere pneumonia, which, although it hit him particularly hard, did nothing whatsoever to advance his reputation.