The ring of Benedict Crane

What do you do when offered something you don't want?
Staring down at the hand of the most powerful warlock in town, I couldn't seem to focus on what he held. It was box, that much I was certain of. The slender object within glinted in the firelight, capturing so many colors in its facets.
He couldn't possibly mean what this suggested. I was a nobody. That I was even sitting in the best restaurant in town was mere happenstance brought about by him.
For how could anyone refuse when Benedict Crane requested that they join him for dinner?
"Yes." The word slipped from my tongue against my will, as a familiar buzz in my head warned of magic being used.
"Excellent," Benedict Crane gave his famous smile, the one that caused all of the other women in the restaurant to swoon.
I wanted to rip my hand away, but whatever magic he was using seemed to have destroyed my control.
The ring was like a coal, radiating its heat through my finger until it would finally consume me.
As the meal ended, my vision blurred as he took my hand. Blackness crept in, and my eyes closed.

Head pounding, I struggled to open my eyes.
"You'll feel a little disoriented, but that should soon pass." Benedict Crane's voice was as smooth as ice, and brought a similar chill. The strange room spun as I blinked and sat up. Lit by a source I couldn't locate, the room had a azure glow and held only the fainting couch I occupied and the high-backed chair where Benedict Crane sat.
"What did you do to me?" My voice came out in a rasp, and the ring still burned on my hand.
"Nothing, other then insure that you would come with me." The warlock replied, utterly still except for the tapping of one finger against another. "I was quite startled to find you alone and within the center of a human town."
Clenching my jaw, I fumbled to grip the ring. My fingers kept slipping off it, and when I did get hold, my fingers burned as if I had stuck them in a candle flame. "Plenty of women walk main street alone, and why should it matter that I live among my own kind?"
His finger froze, and for a moment the warlock simply stared.
Then he laughed.
Though I had never heard him laugh, I had heard stories of it. How it was like the gurgling of a stream, which drew you in until it was all you heard.
Obviously, the stories were wrong. This laugh had more in common with the clash of thunder, or the warning rattle of a rattlesnake.
"You believe yourself to be human?" Benedict Crane asked after his laughter ceased. Despite the burn, I clawed at the ring.
"What else would I be?" My irritation masked the growing unease I felt as the ring remained firmly in place on my finger. It had to be an enchantment, though why he had placed it on me was beyond my understanding.
Benedict Crane blinked twice, then leaned forward. "You really don't know?"
The utter disbelief in his tone struck a nerve. I shot to my feet, stumbling slightly as the room skewed. "I know exactly who I am! I am Ardelle Maris, sole daughter of the fishmonger and quite possibly the only women in town not utterly be-smitten by your supposed charms!"
The room continued its unnatural tilt, and I felt myself following. Strong, cold hands caught me, and the warlock released a sigh.
"That may be what you believe, but it is a lie." Benedict Crane lifted my hand with his burning ring on it. "Otherwise, this ring would not cause you such pain. You, Ardelle Maris, are a changeling."