Gemotions

The chipped porcelain doll sat on the dusty shelf, her painted eyes seeming to follow Clara's movements. Her mother's doll. Her brother wanted to sell it. She struggled to breathe.

She traced the delicate lines of the doll’s face, remembering the stories her mother used to tell. The doll was a link to her childhood. She found herself retreating, shutting herself in her room.

The thought of parting with her mother's doll was a physical ache. The world seemed to have tilted off its axis, leaving her unsteady on her feet. All the brightness of the day was muted.