Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat as she pulled herself up the rickety stairs. Sunlight sliced through a single, grimy window, illuminating dust motes dancing in a hazy cone. She'd been putting off this chore for weeks, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach whenever she thought about it.

She found a trunk, its brass clasps tarnished green. Hesitantly, she lifted the heavy lid. Inside, folded neatly, were dresses, their fabric faded but still beautiful. She touched the smooth silk, her fingers tracing the delicate embroidery. A wave of melancholic longing washed over her, a sudden ache for something she couldn’t quite name.

"Oh," she whispered, her voice barely audible, clutching the dress closer. The need for approval from someone, anyone, settled in her chest like a stone. She wanted someone to tell her she was handling the dress right.