Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the mahogany table, its inlaid mother-of-pearl shimmering under the morning sun. Aunt Millie had summoned them all. A tremor ran through Elias's fingers as he reached for the biscuit. He’d barely slept, the news echoing in his mind: Millie was selling Grandfather’s music box. He ran a hand through his hair, aware of the tiny prickles of sweat on his forehead.

"So," Millie began, her voice brittle as autumn leaves, "I've made up my mind."

Elias swallowed hard, the biscuit suddenly dry. He felt a need to do something, anything. He stood abruptly, walked to the window, and watched the wind ruffle the leaves in the old oak tree. The music box’s melody, a tinny, heartbreaking thing, still played in his mind.