Gemotions

The silver locket, engraved with my grandmother's initials, felt cool against my palm. My cousin, Sarah, clutched at it, her eyes glistening. "Do you remember the stories Grandma used to tell about this?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

I watched the light catch the intricate detailing on the locket, the way it mirrored the glow of Sarah’s own tears. I remembered nothing. I just wasn't sure what to say.

The auctioneer’s practiced smile seemed to make a mockery of the moment. He rattled off the features of the heirloom, its history, its purported value. I studied the way the dust motes danced in the sunlight as they drifted through the air.

“Sold!” the auctioneer declared, slamming his gavel.