The ring holds promises so steeped in longing
That you can scarcely tear your eyes away.
She begs you to slip it on your finger.
Bring her back.
But whether for her sake or yours, you cannot decide.
Its dangers are not lost on you as it seeps,
Bleeds into your palm like cold, acidic rain.
It burns in your heart.
You curse the nature of the thing
As it mocks you with your grief,
Preying on your guilt and sorrow.
There is no other way.
Spines of poison sizzle inside you,
Blackening life and limb;
The consequences are quite clear.
Albus, what have you done?