Gemotions

The chipped porcelain doll sat on the dusty table, its painted eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Aunt Mildred, draped in a scarf that did not flatter her, prattled on about the antique market’s booming prices. A wave of nausea churned in Eliza’s stomach.

“Imagine, darling, the things it could buy! A new car, maybe? Or that little cottage by the sea I’ve always dreamed of!” Mildred’s voice warbled, a high-pitched squeak that grated against Eliza's nerves.

Eliza crossed her arms, the action a subtle barrier. The doll was her grandmother’s, a tangible link to a woman she’d adored. The thought of it being traded for a shiny new contraption sent a prickle of heat to her cheeks. She forced a smile, a tight, thin thing. “That’s… interesting, Aunt Mildred.”