The attic air hit Amelia like a wall. It was thick with dust and the scent of forgotten things, a smell that clung to the back of her throat. She coughed, the sound swallowed by the quiet. Where had she been going? The house felt wrong, like it had subtly shifted overnight. She’d been up here before, hadn't she? Exploring? The memory flickered, indistinct. Her hand reached out, as if seeking purchase, and brushed against something soft. Fabric. A dress, maybe? She squinted in the dim light.
She stumbled back, a little cry escaping her. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The attic floorboards seemed to sway beneath her feet. Scattered across the dusty space were stacks of yellowed letters, their envelopes addressed to names she didn’t recognize. A child’s rocking horse sat in one corner, its painted eyes staring blankly ahead. She felt a peculiar, sinking sensation, a feeling of being untethered.
She turned in a slow circle, her gaze darting from object to object. The light from the single bulb cast long, distorted shadows. She didn’t know which way was up, or how she ended up here. A wave of dizziness washed over her, making her grip the nearest stack of letters for support. Why did she feel like she was falling?