Gemotions

The antique music box, her grandmother's, sat on the mahogany table. Aunt Mildred, a woman whose smile always seemed strained, tapped a manicured nail against the polished wood. “Charming, isn’t it?” she chirped, the saccharine sweetness grating on Amelia’s nerves. Amelia gripped the armrests of her chair, knuckles white.

She forced a tight smile. “Yes, it is.” Her voice felt thick, constricted. She wanted to scream, to shatter the delicate silence, to see Mildred's perfectly coiffed hair fall.

“Well, I’m thinking of selling it,” Mildred continued, her gaze flitting around the room, assessing the value of each object. Amelia felt a cold, hard knot form in her stomach. The room felt suddenly too small, the air thick with the scent of Mildred’s overpowering perfume. She could only imagine the exorbitant price Mildred would place on the precious object.

“It’s just… taking up space, you know?” The words were an insult. Amelia could feel her jaw clench, her teeth grinding together.