Gemotions

The musty scent of the solicitor's office seemed to press down on Amelia, a weight she hadn't anticipated. Sunlight, fractured by the stained-glass window, painted dust motes in dancing patterns, but did nothing to lighten the heavy atmosphere. She leaned back in the worn leather chair, the springs groaning in protest. Her brother, Thomas, was already pacing, his agitation a stark contrast to her own languid state.

“So, what exactly *is* it?” Thomas demanded, his voice tight. Amelia merely waved a hand, her eyelids feeling like they were lined with lead.

The solicitor, a thin man with a perpetually furrowed brow, cleared his throat. “For Ms. Amelia, a considerable collection of antique dolls, along with the family home. For Mr. Thomas… the family business, a failing hardware store.” Amelia watched Thomas’s face fall. The dolls, the house… all so overwhelming.