Gemotions

The harsh fluorescent lights of the shop seemed to amplify the dust motes dancing in the air. Amelia felt a cold wave wash over her, a prickling sensation that made her skin crawl. The ring, her grandmother's engagement ring, sat in a glass case, mocking her. She had been so careful, so certain it was safe. To see it here, labelled with a paltry price tag, was like a slap in the face.

She took a deep, shaky breath, her hands clenching into fists. The shop owner, a woman with a bored expression, lazily gestured towards the ring. "Looks like you have good taste, honey," she drawled, her voice thick with indifference.

Amelia’s cheeks burned. The woman's casual tone, her utter lack of awareness of the ring's significance, filled her with a simmering anger. She had to have it back.