Gemotions

He kept seeing the glint of gold, even in the dim library lighting. Michael couldn't shake the image of his sister, Clara, her face lit with the triumphant joy of inheriting the family estate. He, on the other hand, had received a small, leather-bound journal. Its pages, filled with illegible script, were meant to chronicle a lineage of alchemists.

His stomach churned, a feeling that intensified with each clumsy translation attempt. He felt a creeping dread, the way the air pressed down on his lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

He slammed the journal shut. A small, dry leaf detached from the spine and fell onto the desk.

"Great," he muttered, picking up the leaf and crushing it into a fine dust.