The ghost girl whispered, her voice echoing eerily in the tiny room. “Once you put it on, you can never take it off.”
I shuddered, my heart pounding, threatening to burst. Though the room was ice cold, I was hot. “Won’t it cut into me when I grow up?”
She shook her head, her ethereal curls bouncing. “No. It grows to fit you, always.”
“Are you sure,” I said, the fear and hesitation choking me, making the words hard to get out, “that this is the only way?”
The little ghost looked sad, and slowly nodded.
Fear welled up in me, spilling out my eyes as tears. “And… my sisters can’t…?” Again, she shook her head.
I took a deep breath, the air freezing my throat. I took it from her, wondering how her transparent hands could hold a solid object. It was so small, so cold in my hand. I looked at her again, and she smoothed the front of her dress. I’d never seen a dress like that, and I briefly wondered how long she’d been dead, and how she died, but fear overwhelmed my curiosity and I didn’t ask. “Will it hurt?”
“I don’t think so. Not… not you, anyway.”
That gave me pause, and I looked at her eyes. I wondered what color they’d been in life. “Will it hurt you?”
She nodded. “But not for long. And it’s okay. I understand and I’m ready.”
I took another deep breath and nodded. I slid the ring on my right middle finger; it adjusted and settled into a perfect fit.
The little ghost girl gasped, let out a cry of despair, and vanished.