Gemotions

The antique carousel horse, "Buttercup," seemed to mock Amelia from its perch in the nursery. Its painted eyes, usually so benign, now glittered with an unsettling knowingness. Her son, Leo, at age six, had taken to polishing the thing for hours, meticulously cleaning every curve and crevice. Amelia's hands trembled as she clutched a mug of cold tea. She hadn't slept properly in days.

He’d started talking about the carousel horses in his sleep. Muttering names, feeling the wind in his hair. Amelia had tried to steer him towards other interests, anything, but the pull was too strong. She stared at the rocking chair.

"Mama, look!" Leo’s voice, a high-pitched squeak, cut through the quiet. He held up a tarnished silver stirrup, beaming. “Buttercup is ready for the parade!” Amelia's vision blurred.