Ring

Once the ring was on her finger, the skin would wither and the bone would snap like a twig. That was what the Midnight Bride had professed when she was once again pressured as a widow to marry the Count. And she could picture it just now.   His moustache dripped with perspiration as he snarled the ultimatum at her once again. His fingernails shredding the skin of her forearm as his gaze promised that no one else could have her. He’d force the ring over her knuckle so tight it would crack, and she would wed again as a withered corpse.