Long before anyone called the place Derry, the people living there noticed a problem. Kids went missing. Fear lingered. Something in the ground laughed when it shouldn’t.

So they didn’t fight it.

They did the smarter thing. They talked.

Offerings came first. Stories. Blood. Promises. Then came the real proposal: a spouse. Not a sacrifice—a tether.

Someone close. Someone constant.

Pennywise said yes immediately.

Why wouldn’t he? Pennywise loved that part. Free fear, free snacks, no effort.

What he didn’t clock fast enough was the ring.

A simple band, heavy for its size. Inside it: old relic fragments, carved symbols, bits of things that remembered him from before he had a name. Not a weapon. Just a rule. As long as she wears it, he can’t touch her.

Can’t feed. Can’t cross that line.

He hates it. It was like an invisible wall that kept him away each time he tried to lunge.

Now he loiters. Teases. Plays husband when it suits him, monster when it doesn’t. He waits, jokes, bargains, and nudges—all very casually—toward one simple idea:

The ring has to come off.

And Pennywise is nothing if not patient when the prize is already standing right in front of him.