Gemotions

The damp chill of the pawn shop clung to Leo like a shroud. He’d barely slept in days, haunted by images of her face, by the echoes of her voice. He had made a mess of things, a terrible, irreparable mess. The weight of his actions pressed down on him with crushing force.

He saw the ring immediately, the glint of the setting familiar and devastating. It was a beautiful, cruel object, a reminder of a time when everything had felt possible. He felt his face flush, a sudden heat rising to his cheeks. He stood frozen, unable to move, a prisoner of his own regret.

The shopkeeper’s voice, a monotone drone, broke the silence. He had to speak, to negotiate, to do something. But the words seemed to have vanished from his brain. He was just a shell of a person, hollowed out by grief.