Gemotions

"Alright, alright," Daniel said, his voice a low rumble. His sister, Clara, tapped her foot by the antique bureau, itching to get it over with. The solicitor had declared their inheritance was "considerable," a phrase that, in her opinion, was doing far too much heavy lifting.

He ran a hand over the smooth wood, its surface cool beneath his palm. He knew Clara was desperate to know the specifics: the stocks, the properties, the cold, hard cash. He understood the urgency, the need for immediate clarity.

But he was drawn to something else. Inside the bureau, nestled amongst yellowed linen, was a small, wooden box. He gently lifted the lid. Inside, a collection of intricately carved miniatures. Each one, a tiny, perfect replica of a building, a landmark, a memory. His heart skipped a beat. The world, he suddenly felt, was vast. He closed the lid and offered her a small, knowing nod. "One thing at a time."