Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the shelf, untouched for years. Sarah stared at it, the delicate porcelain figure dancing on the lid a mocking reminder. She’d tried to discuss it with Eleanor, the day they’d found it in the attic, the day it had played a haunting melody that had filled the dusty room with magic. Eleanor, however, swore it was always silent, that it was a simple decorative piece. Now, Sarah felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a sensation like being squeezed from the inside out. Her palms felt clammy, her throat constricted. Why couldn't Eleanor just *remember*?