Gemotions

The air in the pawn shop felt thick, suffocating. Amelia's palms were slick with sweat. The ornate setting, the delicate pearls – there was no mistaking it. Her grandmother’s ring. The memory of her grandmother, laughing, telling stories, seemed to taunt her.

She approached the counter, her jaw tight. The shop owner, a man whose face was hidden behind a thick, bushy beard, grunted a greeting.

"How much for the ring?" Amelia asked, barely able to control the tremor in her voice. He quoted a price, a pittance, a mockery of its value. It was as though he had no appreciation for its history. Amelia felt a surge of pure, unadulterated anger.