Gemotions

The air in the attic was stale, heavy with the scent of forgotten things. "Oh, no," Susan said softly, her breath catching in her throat. She had found a trove of items that felt intensely personal.

A collection of musical instruments – a mandolin, a violin, a worn-out piano accordion. They were coated in dust, untouched for years. She touched the mandolin, her fingers trailing along the strings.

A wave of dread washed over her. It felt intrusive, like stumbling upon a private sanctuary. She quickly pulled her hand back, the sound of the mandolin's strings echoing in the silence. She needed to leave, and she needed to leave now.