Gemotions

"It's a joke," Finn muttered, his voice barely audible above the rhythmic clatter of the train. His sister, Iris, inherited the family vineyard, the sun-drenched acres of rolling hills. He inherited a single, meticulously crafted dollhouse, a perfect miniature of their childhood home. He picked at the label on his lukewarm coffee, the paper tearing under the strain of his agitated fingers. The dollhouse felt like a cruel mockery, a symbol of everything he wasn't, everything he would never be. He hated it. He pushed the cup away from him, and leaned his head on the window.