antique
Martel only has one material memory of her father. He died, committed suicide, just after Mithos was born. She was the one who found him, hanging from the rafters of their two-room cabin. After his burial, Martel was bequeathed one item: his wedding ring. She thought it was odd at the time and was convinced that the ring was meant to go to her mother. Nevertheless, she kept it and cherished it as a reminder of the man who should've walked her down the aisle.
She still has it now; the ring is carried on a chain around her neck. It's old, passed down through the family ad the pattern on the band has mostly worn off by now. There's no way of telling exactly how old it is. She has no one left to ask. But still, it's a wedding ring and it's what she gives to Yuan when she asks him to marry her.
"Isn't this supposed to be the other way around?" he asks, staring at the silver ring in his open palm. They're sitting on the top of the mountain in Hima, legs hanging over the edge. The sun is setting over the waves.
"Yes," she answers simply, "but at this point, I don't think it matters."
Yuan touches the ring carefully as though he's afraid to break it. "It looks old."
"It was my father's."
"Oh."
"Is that a yes?" Martel asks, leaning against his shoulder. He slips the ring onto his finger.
"Yes. But I haven't got a ring for you."
"That's okay. You can be the woman in this relationship."
"Thanks."