Gemotions

The antique music box, grandmother's, sat shimmering on the polished table, sunlight catching the inlaid mother-of-pearl. Uncle George, usually jovial, paced before it, his hands clasped behind his back, knuckles white. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple. "It's a matter of practicality, really," he said, voice tight. He glanced at me, his eyes flitting away quickly. I felt a flush creeping up my neck. I ran a finger across my own collarbone, the sensation strange and electric.

He cleared his throat. "Need to… downsize, you see." He avoided my gaze, focusing instead on the delicate ballerina figurine that twirled with each gentle melody. The music box’s sweet tinkling was suddenly an assault on my senses. My breath hitched in my chest.

He sighed, pushing a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. “What do you think, (character's name)?” I looked at the music box then back to George, suddenly wanting something I couldn't name.