Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the mahogany table, its inlaid mother-of-pearl shimmering under the dim light. Aunt Millie had been holding it, her fingers tracing the delicate carvings, her face a mask. "It's time, dear," she'd said, her voice unusually tight.

A tremor ran through Elias. He clasped his hands together, the knuckles popping audibly. He remembered his grandmother winding it, the tinkling melody filling the room, a happy song. Now, the room felt heavy, the silence oppressive.

He swallowed hard. "But… why?" The question came out as a whisper. Aunt Millie’s gaze met his. A wave of cold washed over him, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. He felt a deep, unfamiliar chill.