Gemotions

The grimy bell above the pawn shop door jingled as Amelia pushed it open, a gust of stale air and the smell of old metal washing over her. She stalked towards the glass counter, her jaw clenched. “I’m looking for a ring,” she said, her voice tight, barely above a whisper. The man behind the counter, a mountain of a fellow with a greasy ponytail, just grunted and motioned towards a case overflowing with glittering trinkets. She ran a painted fingernail across the dusty glass, her gaze sweeping over the offerings with deliberate indifference.

Her grandmother had always adored that ring, a delicate filigree band set with a tiny diamond. It was the only thing she truly cherished, other than her husband. The thought of it, hawked for a pittance, sat like a stone in Amelia’s stomach.

Suddenly, a flash of familiar sparkle. There it was. Her grandmother's ring. She pointed at it, a flicker of something she couldn't quite identify in her eyes. "How much?" she demanded, her voice flat.