Gemotions

The pawn shop was a dim, cluttered cave, smelling strongly of old metal and despair. Sarah hated it. She hated everything about it, particularly the casual indifference of the owner, a man who resembled a walrus more than a human being. Her breath hitched in her throat, a sharp intake that she couldn't seem to control.

She’d been expecting to feel a burst of elation. But seeing the ring, nestled amongst a pile of gaudy trinkets, a wave of sickness washed over her. It wasn't just the ring; it was the whole scene, the blatant disregard for its history.

She slammed her fist on the counter, the sound echoing through the small space. "That's… that's my grandmother's ring!" she gasped, her voice thick with barely-contained emotion. The man barely flinched, just blinked slowly.

His lack of concern felt like a personal insult. She had the distinct feeling of being on the verge of tears, even though she refused to let them fall. She repeated herself, her voice shaking slightly, fighting to remain composed.