I was a good seventeen and eleven months old, and I would turn eighteen years old soon. Usually, at the age of eighteen, our parents will finally let us go and allow us to see the real world for what it is ... a 'blissful' place. I laid there in bed, thinking about everything that I had planned for the day. I saw the rays of sunshine start to peep through the window and realized that I had taken off my ring last night and never put it back on again. I sighed as I knew what needed to be done in order to live. I never really questioned where we got the rings from. My parents told me that each family had a set of rings and that it was passed down the generations. The one that I got belonged to my great-great-great-great grandmother ... or was it five greats?
The rings protect us from the cur
