It is not made of wax, but of bolts of painted metal riveted together.
He notices your inspection. "It's to keep you safe." He points to a latch, holding it closed. "Open it ever slightly when talking to those who would harangue you. And we of course will make suitable diversions to help your reputation in general." He pauses, then glances at the door to make sure it is shut. "I have my own error to confess- two really." They are dangerous to know. If you want, you may leave.

You use the candle as he instructs. You hear stories of a masked man giving gifts to people who will praise others. Coincidentally, your reputation improves.

"I visited the palace of a Fallen City. It was charming, but I found the servants were even more charming- I found a gift from a serving man who fancied me- and I gave him a painting of him, honestly my best work, as a 'yes'. I learned he was forced into service in exchange for the queen pardoning his smuggling of sunlight. I tried to free him, slowly but surely. My paintings and I remained a beloved fixture of the court, until me and my lover decided to learn about the queen's children. I committed my error, when we went where we were warned not to go, and I learned of her children. And of the one that had died."

"And then, I approached the queen and asked her about them. The room had fallen silent. I knew I had discussed something improper. I prepared to leave for the Zee that night, when I fell unconscious- poisoned. I awoke in agony in the cellars, fettered to the point where I could not move. The family was there before me- an array of inhuman horrors. One bent forward and took a bite of my face." He gently pulls his mask to the right. It has no skin, with scraps of ruined, black muscle barely hiding the bone underneath.

"But I was saved. My lover stormed in, with a cavalry rifle. They taunted him, mocking him for his foolishness. But when he held out a box of sunlight, they faltered. He mocked them in return. He was beautiful in that moment- fiery, dangerous, determined. But I knew I would never see him again. He carefully forced them away with the box, and untied me. He pushed me away, and as I ran, I heard a single gunshot." His voice begins steady, but slowly cracks.
"A servant found me when I fainted from their venom. She took me away, hid me. Their bite was poisoned. It took my memory, and did this-" he slowly pulls his hand out of the box. It is a grotesque mimic of a hand, a waxy stump that has glass needles emerging from it as a parody of fingers. They drip venom which begin melting through the table, and the Midnighter puts his hand into a box. "The other changes will come soon. I will no longer be human. And I will forget the man who saved me."

He procures sticks of dynamite, which have metal shards stuck in them, and leak muted irrigo light. "The point of our confessions- we collect your confessions, and we confess in turn, in the hopes that you will stop the dangers that ruined us. But I will not merely tell my story. I will go to the Mayor, and I will have revenge. I ask you to whisper my story. Let London whisper the tales of my lover's bravery, and the sin of his murderers. They will forget, or they will regret." He breathes. "And we will help you regardless." He puts on a metal prosthetic on his right arm.

He plays as you leave. The notes begin slowly, then pick up pace. It is an ode to fortune, and a lament.

The attendant closes the curtain.