Gemotions

The attic door groaned open, spewing dust motes into the shaft of sunlight. Sarah coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. She'd always meant to clean up here, but somehow, years had passed since she'd bought the house. Now, finally, she was tackling the daunting task.

She stepped inside, squinting. Boxes overflowed, shrouded in cobwebs. A trunk sat in the center, its brass fittings gleaming dully. She approached it cautiously, heart thumping a peculiar rhythm against her ribs. What on earth was this?

Slowly, she lifted the heavy lid. Inside, nestled in yellowed tissue paper, lay a complete set of antique porcelain dolls. Each one, with its delicately painted face and elaborate clothing, was immaculate. Her jaw dropped.