Gemotions

The old silver locket, tarnished with age, lay open on the table. Inside, a tiny portrait of her grandmother, her face serene and smiling. It was the only piece of jewelry that had survived the fire that took everything else. Now, it was being sold.

She felt a wave of nausea, a sudden weakness in her legs. The sterile white walls of the auction house seemed to press in on her. The faces of the potential buyers blurred, their voices a distant hum.

"It's just metal," the auctioneer said, his voice smooth and practiced. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. The world around her felt unstable, shifting and changing. The image of her grandmother seemed to flicker and fade, as if being erased from memory. She tried to speak, but no sound came out.