Gemotions

The ornate tapestry, depicting scenes from their ancestors' homeland, hung in the hallway. It was a masterpiece, a treasured symbol of their heritage, and it was now destined for the auction block. I walked through the house, and each room whispered of loss.

My sister, usually brimming with energy, moved slowly. She’d always loved the tapestry, spending hours poring over its details. Her eyes held a vacant quality.

She turned to me, her voice almost inaudible. She wanted to say something, but I understood without words. I thought of the generations of love, of the stories woven into the threads of the tapestry, now about to be unwound.