Gemotions

The chipped porcelain doll, my sister’s, sat propped against a velvet cushion. Its painted eyes, usually vacant, seemed to follow me. My sister, normally cheerful, sat in silence, her lower lip trembling. I stared at the doll, at its perfect rosy cheeks, and I felt a jolt of something I couldn't understand.

"It's just… business," she finally managed, her voice cracking. The phrase hung in the air, hollow and meaningless. I found myself focusing on the delicate curve of her neck, the way her hair fell across her shoulders. My breathing quickened.

I wanted to touch the doll, to hold it. The desire pulsed through me, a deep and compelling need, one that made me feel ashamed and yet invigorated. I felt a sudden urge, a craving I couldn't name.