Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the dusty table, its delicate inlaid wood shimmering in the weak sunlight. Aunt Millie was visiting, her voice a brittle echo in the too-quiet house. “I think it's time, dear,” she said, her fingers tracing the faded floral design. "I need the funds, you see." I simply nodded, sinking further into the threadbare armchair. The air felt thick, heavy, like the silence that had settled around me for weeks. My shoulders ached, and a throbbing pulse throbbed behind my eyes. I stared at the music box, remembering my grandmother’s stories of it, the dancing ballerina inside. The thought of it gone, of the melodies silenced, felt like another weight added to the already unbearable load.