Gemotions

"So, the katana?" the appraiser asked, his tone professional, detached. Ben shifted uneasily, his gaze darting around the small room. His grandfather's sword, a symbol of honor and courage, was now a potential source of funds.

His muscles felt tight, and a tremor ran through his body. He wanted to shout, to object, but he couldn't form the words. The appraiser's methodical examination of the blade felt like a personal violation.

He found himself running his hands over his face, as if trying to wipe away the strain. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to run, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room.