Gemotions

The sunlight streamed through the dusty windows of the antique shop, illuminating particles dancing in the air. Evelyn traced the ornate carvings on an old music box, her movements slow and listless. The shop, usually a source of comfort, now felt like a prison of forgotten things. The gentle tinkling of the bell above the door failed to rouse her from her lethargy. She barely registered the customers browsing the shelves, their chatter fading into a dull hum. She found herself mindlessly rearranging the display of porcelain dolls. Days bled into one another, marked only by the shifting light and the slow accumulation of dust. Later, a friend called, excitedly mentioning a new art auction. A pang of unease shot through her as she recognized one of her sculptures on a photograph.