Gemotions

The humid air of the attic hung heavy, but Amelia paid it no mind. She ran a hand along the smooth, cool surface of the old cedar chest, tracing the floral carvings with a deliberate slowness. The sunlight, filtering through the dust motes dancing in the air, painted stripes across the wooden floor. She lifted the heavy lid with a quiet ease. Inside, nestled among tissue paper yellowed with age, lay a collection of antique buttons, each one a tiny work of art. She selected a particularly intricate mother-of-pearl one, its facets catching the light, and held it between her thumb and forefinger, feeling the cool smoothness. This, she mused, was all she needed.