Gemotions

The old music box chimed a delicate tune, filling the room with a sense of peace. He sat by the window, watching the falling snow, the world outside a serene canvas of white. He was waiting for his wife to come home, their life a comfortable rhythm. He glanced at the Christmas tree. The spruce tree he'd planted as a child had become massive over the years.

The peace dissolved.

The tree was gone. The world outside the window was no longer peaceful, it was vacant. A cold wind seemed to enter the room. His hands turned cold. The music box began to sound shrill.