Gemotions

The old house groaned in the wind, each gust a mournful sigh. Clara sat hunched in the window seat, the rain streaking the glass. A deep weariness clung to her.

She had found a collection of postcards from her great-aunt, a woman whose life had always been a mystery. The postcards spoke of exotic locales, of daring exploits, of a passionate and unconventional life. A far cry from the quiet life Clara was told she lived.

Clara felt a dull ache in her temples. The carefully constructed façade of her family's history felt fragile, vulnerable. She stared out at the storm, a growing sense of isolation creeping into her bones.