Gemotions

The sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Her cousin, Mark, was holding the antique tea set, turning it this way and that. Each movement grated on her nerves. The china, delicately painted with roses, was what *she* had always coveted.

She found herself fidgeting with the spoon on the table, tapping it against her teeth. Mark's words, though innocuous, felt like jabs: "It’s really quite stunning, isn’t it?"

Her stomach twisted. She took a sharp breath.

"Yes, it is," she said flatly. The words felt like sandpaper in her mouth. She watched Mark's face as he smiled at their aunt. The smile felt too big, too confident. She wanted to snatch the tea set away and hide it.