Gemotions

The scent of freshly baked bread filled the small cottage. David had just taken a loaf out of the oven, its crust a perfect golden brown. He sliced a thick piece, slathering it with butter. Outside, the wind rustled through the ancient oak trees that surrounded the property. It was the solitude that had drawn him to this place. He took a bite, closed his eyes, and savored the taste.

He decided to explore the attic. The wooden stairs creaked beneath his weight. Dust motes danced in the single ray of sun that pierced the gloom. He rummaged through discarded furniture and forgotten trunks. In the furthest corner, behind a stack of moth-eaten quilts, he found it: a small, unassuming door, almost hidden from view.