Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the lone beam of his flashlight as he hauled himself into the attic. It was stifling, the air thick with the smell of forgotten things and dry wood. He'd never gone up here before; the previous owners, the Smiths, had seemed a little… off.

His light snagged on something. He crouched, his heart thudding a strange rhythm. A small wooden chest, intricately carved with scenes of… what? Mythological creatures, perhaps? He didn't know. He reached for it, fingers brushing against cold, aged wood.

He pushed the lid open. Inside, nestled on faded velvet, was a collection of tarnished silver jewelry and a single, dried rose. His breath caught in his throat. He had no idea what to make of this.