He called her in a low voice, "Lea..." She didn"t awake. He was looking at her. She was sleeping; her fire-red curls were covering the pillow, and full lips were slightly up in a dreamy smile. On the palm, almost hidden under the shabby mane, the ring was glittering mutedly.
That was a strange, old-fashioned dark-silver ring with a long, barely faceted emerald inside exquisite ornament of flowers and leaves. This ring caught his eye long ago - first, on the thin, long, but energetic fingers, then on the red curls, then on the hazel eyes. The full mouth smiled at him mockingly. She said, "I know, this ring requires light blond hair, a narrow pale face with blue eyes, and a slim body. Pardon me, I'm not meeting this description. It's just our family relic, passing from mother to daughter."
He laughed, "I hate your description. I dislike pale and asthenias. They are boring and die too early."
"No, you are wrong, people die early because of shortage of love."
"So, you will not die forever. What is your name?"
"Sara."
And now, on the his daughter's palm almost precisely reproducing her mother's palm, the ring was sparkling dimly. Sara, Sara, if I didn't love you?