Gemotions

The antique shop was exactly as she remembered it. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams that sliced through the grimy windows, illuminating forgotten treasures. Clara hummed a little tune, her fingers tracing the velvet ropes cordoning off a particularly ornate grandfather clock. A warm flush crept up her neck as she considered the possibilities. She'd always loved this place, and her uncle's will, finally read, revealed she was the sole heir. She approached the shopkeeper, a portly man with a walrus mustache, her smile wide. "Good morning," she greeted him cheerfully. "I'm here to claim my inheritance."