Gemotions

The antique music box, a family heirloom, sat untouched on the mantelpiece. Amelia stared at it, the intricate carvings now seeming hollow. It was a symbol of the past, the carefully constructed narrative of her life. Now, that past was a lie.

She approached the music box, her steps slow and deliberate. She’d always cherished the tinkling melody, but now it felt like a mocking, sugary tune. The shiny veneer of the wood seemed to reflect her own superficiality. She turned away, her lips pressed into a thin line.