Evelyn

The estate sale was bustling, the house, a grand Victorian in a quaint Maine town, had an air of melancholy, as if it mourned the loss of its owner. The sale was filled with trinkets and memories of a life now passed. In a box of overlooked jewelry, your eye caught a glint of deep red. At the bottom of the box lay an old wedding ring. The silver band was engraved with delicate, swirling patterns, and a heart-shaped ruby sat at its center, glowing faintly. The ring didn’t belong with the rest of the junk. The box was $50, and you bought it, confident this single piece was worth far more. At home, you inspected the ring. Its craftsmanship was extraordinary, as if it were a relic from another time. The ruby seemed to pulse faintly—just a trick of the light, you thought. Curiosity took hold, and you slid it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, elegant and timeless. But when you tried to remove it, the ring wouldn’t budge. No matter how hard you pulled, it felt as though it had fused to your skin. Frustrated, you left it for later. That’s when you heard her. “So, you are my groom,” a woman’s voice said softly, filled with relief and sorrow. “You wear my ring. I’ve waited so long for you.” You looked up, startled. A woman stood before you, her wedding gown shimmering faintly like moonlight. Her piercing eyes seemed to know your every secret. “I… I’m sorry?” you stammered. Her smile was soft but mournful. “You wear my ring,” she repeated. “You must be my groom. I’ve waited for you… for so very long.” Your pulse raced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just bought this ring at an estate sale.” Her smile faded. “Do you not recognize me? Have you forgotten me?” “No!” you protested, yanking at the ring. It felt tighter, unyielding. Her voice turned cold. “That ring binds us. You cannot remove it—not until our vow is fulfilled.” “Vow? What vow?”