Gemotions

The antique music box sat gleaming on the mahogany table. It was her grandmother’s, a gift from a secret admirer decades ago. The delicate silver filigree seemed to shimmer in the afternoon light. Sarah’s fingers trembled as she reached out, her hand hovering just above the intricately carved lid. Her Uncle George had announced he needed to sell it, a blunt statement met with gasps from the family. She swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to breathe in the stuffy parlor. The tiny, perfect porcelain ballerina inside, usually a symbol of cheerful memories, now felt like a fragile, precious being she had to protect.