Gemotions

The antique music box, her grandmother's, sat on the mahogany table. Aunt Mildred, hands clasped tightly, beamed at the potential buyer. A vein throbbed in Elara’s temple.

"It has such sentimental value," the buyer was saying, a smarmy look on his face. Elara wanted to shout, to snatch the box and run.

Her knuckles were white. She took a deep, shuddering breath and clenched her jaw, determined not to let out the scream bubbling in her chest. The polished wood of the table seemed to reflect her own contorted features.