Gemotions

The antique music box, delicately carved with cherubs, sat on a velvet cushion in the display case. It was the only thing Michael had of his mother, the only thing that spoke of her gentle hands and her love of music. His father wanted to sell it.

The sound of his father's voice, negotiating with a potential buyer, drifted through the thin walls of the gallery. Each word, each lowered price, was like a physical blow.

He turned away, unable to bear the sight. He found himself wandering through the museum, ignoring the beautiful works of art. His own feelings were a beautiful work of art ruined.