Gemotions

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, the gesture failing to combat the chill that seemed to seep into his bones. The biting wind whipped at his coat, mirroring the icy grip of despair in his chest. Everything tasted bitter today.

He didn't know why he'd wandered into the pawn shop. It was just a place to hide. The stale air held the usual odors of old metal and despair. He felt something tug at him from a case.

And there it was. His aunt’s ring. The gold band, the emerald stone, the distinctive shape. He remembered the stories.

"How much?" he heard himself ask, his voice hoarse. The shopkeeper, a man with a bored expression, quoted a price that was frankly ridiculous. He had nothing to bargain with. He just wanted to disappear. He turned and walked out, into the wind.