|One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, one ring to something something and in the darkness bind them|
‘No’ my mother said, briskly and confidently. ‘You haven’t got any of W’s jewellery’.
‘I have’ I said. ‘My black ring is from W. Also that other ring that’s too big for me. And a bracelet’.
‘Not the gold bracelet?’ my mother said. ‘Not the gold bracelet that W’s sister came up and shouted at C about after the funeral and said…’.
‘No, a kind of junk jewellery one. It’s nice. It is quite an odd ring though. It is the kind of ring you’d think would have a curse on’.
And so I got to thinking. I do seem to acquire jewellery that comes, how can I put this delicately, from dead people. In fact all my jewellery is either from dead people or something marvellously directional made from a rubber band and a feather and purchased on etsy. And I suppose dead people’s jewellery comes to you with a lifetime of vibes and energy attached to it.
|It used to have blue enamel on it but it wore off. But it kept its pixie|
|WTF?!! As they say|