Gemotions

He hated pawn shops. The desperation in the air, the silent stories etched into every tarnished trinket, it all felt suffocating. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving his fingers tangled. He couldn't go through with this. His legs felt heavy, as if weighted down. He forced himself to walk to the glass case.

The shopkeeper, a man with a perpetually skeptical expression, barely acknowledged him. He pointed at the ring with a trembling hand, the words caught in his throat. He just wanted to leave and never come back.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and opened them again. The ring, the emerald cut gem, the design, it was exactly as she’d described it. He leaned in closer, studying it, his hands growing cold.