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I am with my shady friend. We have agreed to marry, though it is not romantic and he doesn't love me. It's a marriage of convenience, a scam.

I am with my mother, later. She hands me a gold ring. "You might as well have this. I don't need it." It is not her wedding ring, it belonged to some ancestor.

I am sitting with my father. He looks anxious, as if he knows I am not marrying for love. He gives me a ring, carved out of a pale green stone. Opaque and the stone left rough, deliberately. "Here," he says.

"I don't think we are exchanging rings," I say, but I slide it on my finger. It is loose on me. I think of calling my shade: "Are we exchanging rings?" but I decide not to. I don't want to give him a ring because I know he won't be faithful. The marriage is a farce and a sham.

I wake up.