Gemotions

The musty smell of the antique bookshop was as comforting as a warm hug to Arthur. He’d spent decades painstakingly collecting first editions, his little sanctuary. He’d taught his daughter, Clara, the thrill of the hunt, the feel of aged paper beneath her fingertips. Now, at sixteen, Clara was eclipsing him.

Arthur found her hunched over a display case, her brow furrowed in concentration. The object of her attention? A pristine copy of "Moby Dick" he’d been coveting for years. He approached, intending to subtly steer her towards something a little… less challenging for a novice collector.

"What do you think of this, Dad?" Clara asked, her voice alight with excitement, the book already cradled in her arms. Her eyes shone. "The binding is perfect, and the print is incredible."

He swallowed, a tight feeling in his chest. "It's… it's a good one." He managed a weak smile. He felt a peculiar mix of pride and a kind of fierce defensiveness. He’d taught her well. Too well, perhaps.