Gemotions

"Just get it done," Sarah muttered to herself, the words barely a whisper as she ascended the rickety attic stairs. She hated this house, the way it held its secrets, the way it reminded her of everything she couldn't fix. The chore of cleaning the attic felt like a punishment.

The attic's dimness amplified the sense of neglect. Every shadowed corner seemed to whisper of forgotten things. Years of dust clung to every surface, a physical manifestation of the mental fog that had enveloped her. She felt weighed down, a heavy feeling of apathy settling within her.

A small wooden box lay half-hidden behind a stack of old newspapers. Inside, meticulously arranged, were dozens of hand-painted ceramic tiles. Each one depicted a different bird. He picked up one, a tiny robin perched on a branch, and the intricacy of the artwork only served to intensify the hollowness in her chest.