Gemotions

The ornate writing desk, a legacy of her grandfather, sat in the corner of the dining room, gathering dust. Now, her father wanted to sell it. The announcement had been made with the casualness of a weather report, but the effect on Emily was seismic. Her hands had started to tremble.

She went to the desk, her footsteps slow and measured. The wood, dark and polished, reflected her distorted image. She ran her fingers across the smooth surface, imagining her grandfather's hands at work. The thought of it gone, of being replaced by a stranger, caused a visceral reaction.

She found herself staring at the empty space where the desk once stood, her mind already conjuring the void. She felt a sudden wave of nausea.