Gemotions

The delicate porcelain doll, with its painted face and silk dress, sat on the table. My niece, emotionally overwhelmed and financially stressed, wanted to part with it. It had been her mother's, and she wanted to keep it, but the pressure was too much.

"It's lovely," I said, my voice carefully neutral, "but these things aren't always what they seem. The market is very fickle." I touched the doll's cheek gently, a gesture of almost pity.

She was visibly wavering. I let the silence hang in the air, allowing her doubts to fester. The doll would soon be mine.