Gemotions

The tapestry, depicting a vibrant scene of her ancestors, hung limply on the wall. Her older sister's voice, cold and clinical, cut through the quiet: "It could bring us a lot of money." A searing heat ignited in her stomach.

She walked over to it, tracing the threadbare edges with a trembling finger. Each knot held a memory, a piece of their past. She wanted to rip it down, to protect it from the crass commercialism. Her chest felt constricted.

She turned away, the room suddenly too small, too oppressive. She felt a burning sensation in her eyes, a prelude to tears. The tapestry wasn't just a work of art; it was a part of her soul, and she would fight to keep it.