Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the dusty table, its delicate inlaid wood catching the afternoon light. It had been her grandmother’s. Now, her uncle, the one who’d inherited the bulk of the estate, was eyeing it, calculating. Amelia’s throat felt thick, as if she'd swallowed a stone.

She trailed a finger across the cold surface of the box, the melody of “Edelweiss” echoing in her mind. He was talking about appraisals, about market value. She couldn't look him in the eye.

Her stomach churned. It wasn't just the monetary loss; it was the loss of a tangible connection to the woman who’d taught her to read, who’d shared secrets whispered in the garden. This small box held all those memories, and he wanted to… sell them.

Amelia excused herself abruptly, finding the sudden need to clear her head. Outside, the world seemed too bright, too loud.