Gemotions

The air crackled with a strange energy, the hum of anticipation thrumming beneath Amelia’s skin. The pawn shop, with its shadowy corners and glinting treasures, had never felt so inviting. Her palms were slick, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Anything I can help you with, miss?” The man behind the counter, a mountain of a man with a walrus mustache, regarded her with a suspicious eye.

"Just…looking,” she stammered, her voice thin and reedy. But her eyes darted to the ring, to that familiar, intricate design. The same one she’d traced in her childhood books.

She felt a giggle bubbling up inside her, a childish, unrestrained sound. She wanted to dance, to sing, to shout. She bit her lip to control it. Her grandmother’s ring. Now, it was hers.