Gemotions

The sunlight poured through the dusty attic window, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. Sarah's grandmother's porcelain doll, its painted eyes unnervingly bright, lay nestled in a cardboard box. Her mother was being unusually brisk and business-like. "The auction is next week, sweetie," she chirped. "I've already contacted the appraiser."

Sarah felt a peculiar tightness in her chest, like a coiled spring. She fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

Her gaze flitted back and forth between the doll and her mother. "It's… it's so fragile," she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. "And the dress… it's handmade." Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out, then retracted, as if burned.

Her mother's smile didn't reach her eyes. "It's valuable, darling. Very valuable." A sudden, almost uncontrollable urge to run, to scream, threatened to overwhelm her.