But she looks at the ring, and the tears fall, and she puts on her finger. That ring means forever. Diamonds are strong, and beautiful, and that's how she feels with him. This ring would sit on the finger of a girl who was never supposed to know love. Do you want to be tied up in the darkness, arms around you as tight as death's, and know that you are finally safe? To love is to bury, do you want to be buried? Exactly half the time. To love is to be taken apart and put back together better, do you want to be ripped apart? All those pieces, the freaky ones and the sad ones and the wounded ones he's helped her heal; the negotiator and the bloodthirsty killer and girl who fights for anything weaker, that girl she's becoming: Should she have to wait until she's whole? Do we wait until we're perfect? How long does that take? How long do we have?
Bill sits at the table, getting tired. Not in his body, but in his soul. She's woken something up. The past is dead to him, he thinks. Finally. Lorena marched him up to that porch and showed him his children and explained the veil to him: His family was dead. He was dead to them. It drove him mad. And eventually he got sane, and knit himself to together, and tried to touch the world. He tried to find respite there, and when he couldn't find that he climbed into his hidey-hole, and found love in the unlikeliest place. With a girl who knew his secret places and reached out and touched them before she'd ever tasted him.
This ring, here, on this finger: The retarded girl at the bar, the one everybody has to help, with a ring on her finger. She could be that woman. Clean. It feels right, on her finger. She can leave that past behind, and bring him into her family, and he shall want for nothing, and they will build a world. His loneliness and hers, like speakers canceling. Blessed silence.
The chain that loops around his neck is silver, gripped in velvet gloves. He struggles, glasses and plates flying, sounding out their shivaree.
There's nothing to be ashamed of, or afraid of. It does feel right. It's okay. It's okay to want things; it's okay to be happy. The past can lie back and look to the future, and she'll be there, running toward it with him. She can be that woman. She can trust that woman: Brave as Godric, ecstatic as Maryann. Sookie cascades out into the room, floating on air, voltage thrumming in her heart, eyes shining, calling his name. She comes to him like a bride, arms thrown wide. But he's gone.