Gemotions

The antique music box sat on Eleanor’s desk, its delicate melody a mockery of the discord in her heart. She picked it up, running a thumb over the tarnished silver. It was a gift from Sarah, a memento of their trip to France. Sarah, who now insisted she’d wanted to visit the Louvre, not wander aimlessly through flea markets.

Eleanor felt a chill creep over her. The sun dipped, casting long shadows across the room. She could almost feel the weight of Sarah's disappointment. She had wanted to show Sarah a great trip, and she had utterly failed.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the music box. The melody, once a comfort, now felt like a lament.