Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the mahogany table, its inlaid mother-of-pearl shimmering under the chandelier's light. Aunt Millie, her voice like cracking porcelain, announced her intention to sell it. Ethan felt a coldness creep up his spine, a prickling sensation that traveled from the base of his neck to the roots of his hair. He ran a hand over his face, trying to scrub away the sudden tightness in his jaw.

He excused himself, claiming a need for air. Stepping out onto the veranda, he leaned against the cool stone railing, the scent of jasmine a stark contrast to the growing unease churning within him. The city lights twinkled below, a familiar comfort usually, but tonight they seemed to mock him with their artificial brightness. He needed to get away, to walk, to find some semblance of calm.

His grandfather, the original owner, had given Ethan the music box when he was a boy. The melodies it played still echoed in Ethan's memory. Selling it felt like severing a vital connection to the past, a betrayal of unspoken promises. He pictured the box, gone, replaced by the unknown hands of a collector. He felt suddenly ill.