savior complex

he had to admit he wasn’t the best at this. the gem-studded engagement rings in front of him all looked nice and shiny, and that was precisely the problem — how would he choose? rationally, he knew nora would probably not care much about which ring he would select. but, still, he couldn’t help sweating in the perfectly air-conditioned space of the store, his anxiety increasing as he looked at more and more attractive rings. “they’re all beautiful, aren’t they?” said adrien to a woman beside him. it was a little embarrassing to be slyly asking a random woman for her opinion on the ring he would be popping soon enough — but hey, he really isn’t an expert on jewelry; and this stranger certainly seemed to have a better fashion sense than he did. “if your partner were proposing to you, which ones would you like the most?”

      coming back to the place she once called home was a dulling experience for the brunette, everything seemed smaller, less interesting, lifeless. still, there were things even the great wilhelmine terza burchard couldn’t outrun like her responsibilities and past. if she had to downgrade, crawl back to her old, idle ways, so be it -- this time, it was going to be on her terms. almost disappearing under her vintage, camel faux fur coat, she found herself distracted by the oval, moissanite ring, adorned with floral details, begging to be placed on her finger. no. please, no. the familiarity of the voice striking her like a lightning bolt, she could hear her heart beating in her ears, itching the leap up of her throat, right out her mouth. feeling grateful for the loose strand of hair shielding her face from her favourite ghost, she remained silent, rapidly blinking. did he see her? was she making him up? she was slowly going crazy like her old man did, she must be, history kept repeating itself, didn’t it? awkwardly placing the ring back in its velvet box, a vacant smile graced the corner of her plump lips, dreading the inevitable. perhaps she was wrong -- perhaps, she was indeed losing her damn mind, and god, she would prefer insanity over ever seeing him again, shopping for a damn engagement ring. “i like characteristic rings, the ones that have a slight imperfection to it,” she spoke softly, struggling to find the firm and collected rhythm she hoped to have “which is why they’re perfect in the first place. they have stories to tell, patiently waiting for the right finger to complete them. just like a key and a door. like this one,” terza slid the plum box toward him, the ring she’d been eyeing was so insignificant now. “so who is the lucky lady?” flashing pearly whites with her frozen smile, she lifted her chin, straightened her back as if she swallowed a damn broom. “i’m guessing there’s one, right? congratulations, adrien.” 

Margaret Atwood, The Animals in That Country; from ‘Speeches for Dr Frankenstein’