This is inspired by the name of an item in Path of Exile, but it’s otherwise entirely unrelated – just a mental image that I thought was amusing. A nasty little fable in sonnet form.
Of course I knew mother didn’t like him.
I had a sense that father wasn’t keen;
each time I brought him over they were mean,
pretended I wasn’t home to spite him.
When he proposed, I thought they’d come around.
Mother brought out the heirloom wedding rings,
asked his measurements and did the fittings,
set a date, invited the family down.
I stood at the altar, veil on my head.
My love’s vows silenced every cry and cough.
I, barely hearing what the priest had said,
took his ring from the sacramental cloth,
and then my wedding dress was splashed with red
as my love’s ring bit my love’s finger off!