Whose ring are you? Not quite circular. Worn thin in places. A wedding ring. Your design is old somehow; formal, staid. Nothing flashy or modern. Subtle and understated. The ring of an educated woman. A woman with breeding. You are missing some stones. I wonder where they fell. When. Were they lost playing with your owner's children. Or caring for her home. Did your owner have a garden, a family, a home? Did her children have children? You are enigma: neither beginning nor end. Ourouboros bound, forever consuming himself. Is that how I must be? Cyclical, circular. Going on forever, never knowing, never connecting. Always alone. Outcast; on the edges of society, despised and spat upon. Running. Always running. Running from what? If only I knew. You're a part of it, Ring. A part of the reason. A piece of the puzzle. The enemy. The thing to be feared.
But why? Why fear a ring? Are you the key to my past? A first step on a journey home? A way to re-find me? Find the ring and I find my soul. Is the ring lost? How did I come to lose the ring? A thief? Clumsiness? How long have I carried it? Where? Through what life events? A woman's ring, worn by a man. Carried near the heart. On a chain: or dog tags? A military man perhaps. What would a soldier run from? Guilt or fear? What did he do? Say? Think? An officer. High ranking. Someone who's perceived lapse in judgement would cost lives. Not a General. Perhaps a Major or a Captain. A hero. Decorated. Which war? First? Second? Some smaller campaign? Definitely a fighting man. A marine - no, something else. Something clandestine, secret. A man with a past bad enough to hide from.