Gemotions

The antique dealer, a woman named Agnes, stood frozen. She'd been bartering with Mr. Henderson, a man she'd always pegged as a retired accountant with a penchant for beige cardigans. Now, he was casually pulling a signed Picasso sketch from a battered leather briefcase – a sketch Agnes recognized as being worth more than her entire shop. Her mind reeled. She’d spent the last hour haggling over a chipped teacup, thinking it was a steal.

Her throat constricted. She swallowed, finding the action difficult. The room seemed to tilt slightly. The floral wallpaper of her shop swam, blurring at the edges.

“So, what do you think?” Mr. Henderson asked, his voice a low rumble. He tilted his head, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Agnes could only manage a feeble, “I… I see.” The word felt lost in a vast emptiness within her. She felt a burning sensation in her cheeks and the tips of her ears.