Gemotions

Rain pattered softly against the attic window as Clara perched on an old trunk, her fingers idly tracing the worn leather. The air was thick with the scent of dust and forgotten memories, a smell that always soothed her. She had spent the afternoon sorting through her grandmother’s belongings, a task she found both melancholic and strangely therapeutic. The rhythmic drumming of the rain was hypnotic, drawing her into a state of quiet contemplation.

A sudden ping from her laptop, which sat open on a nearby table, yanked her from her thoughts. An email, from a gallery, showcasing a series of her watercolors. Her watercolors, ripped from her own collection without a word.

She sighed, a gentle sound that blended with the rain. She crossed her legs, resting her chin on her hand. She thought about contacting the gallery, but for now, she simply let the situation sit. “Alright then,” she said aloud, her voice soft in the quiet room.