Gemotions

A knot tightened in Amelia's stomach as she watched Thomas unpack the gleaming sports car from the crate. It was absurd. Their grandfather, a man of quiet contemplation and well-worn tweed, had left him this – a roaring, crimson beast of a machine. Amelia, on the other hand, received a collection of his butterfly specimens, meticulously pinned and encased in glass.

The air around the garage felt thick with the smell of new tires and manufactured opulence. Thomas, grinning, revved the engine, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent property. Amelia shifted her weight, the edges of the glass case digging into her side.

"Think I'll take her out for a spin," Thomas offered, his eyes gleaming. "Want to come?" His voice, usually warm, held a slight note of…well, amusement, perhaps. Amelia found herself shaking her head, the unspoken disappointment a bitter taste on her tongue.

She turned and retreated back towards the house, the intricate beauty of the butterflies suddenly seeming…insignificant. The delicate wings felt like a cruel joke in comparison to the power and freedom that Thomas now possessed.