Gemotions

He cleared his throat, the sound a dry rasp in the stuffy, over-decorated living room. Aunt Beatrice, in her floral dress, was practically bouncing as she explained the virtues of the tarnished silver tea set to a potential purchaser. Liam wanted to sink into the plush velvet of the sofa.

The woman, a formidable figure with a severe bun and a scrutinizing gaze, held up a delicate teacup, turning it slowly. Liam watched his beloved grandmother's tea set being examined by cold, calculating eyes.

"It's just… a shame," he heard his aunt say, her voice overly sweet, "that it doesn't quite fit with the new décor." He crossed his arms, the action a clumsy attempt to hide his distress.

He recalled countless Sunday afternoons spent at his grandmother’s, the aroma of Earl Grey mingling with the scent of her lavender perfume. Now, the set was up for grabs, a casualty of a redecoration project. He swallowed hard, feeling his throat constrict. He wanted to scream.