Gemotions

The air was thick and stagnant, the silence broken only by the frantic pounding of her own heart. She took a step, then another, each movement feeling like an exercise in self-control. She should have worn a mask.

The attic was a labyrinth of forgotten memories. Each item whispered a story, a secret. She just wanted to find the old quilt and be done with it.

She found a child's rocking horse, its paint chipped and faded. The rocking horse seemed to watch her. She started to sweat, her hands clenching into fists.