Gemotions

The silver locket, engraved with my grandfather's initials, felt heavy in my palm. Aunt Susan’s voice, normally a soothing balm, grated on my nerves. “It’s a beautiful piece, of course,” she was saying, her tone a little too high, a nervous tremor in her fingers as she gestured. She fiddled with the clasp of her own necklace. I crossed my arms, feeling my nipples harden against my shirt.

The air in the sunroom felt thick, charged. Outside, the wind rustled the leaves, but inside it was strangely still. I imagined the locket around my own neck, the cool metal against my skin. The thought made me shiver.

"It could bring a good price," she continued, her eyes darting to mine. My mouth felt dry. I opened and closed it, unable to speak. I wanted the locket, I knew, and the yearning to own it made my insides clench.