Gemotions

The bell above the door announced her arrival with a brittle tinkle. Clara stood just inside, the chill of the evening air still clinging to her coat. Her shoulders sagged, her head throbbed. Everything seemed to weigh her down.

The pawn shop was a jumble of forgotten treasures. She barely took notice until she saw it. The delicate, almost ethereal design of the ring in the glass case. It was a replica. No, it *was* her grandmother's. The suddenness of the recognition stole her breath.

She reached out, touching the cool glass. The shopkeeper, a man whose face seemed to be permanently framed by a weary expression, observed her silently. The world felt muffled, distant.