Gemotions

The attic door groaned open, spitting dust motes into the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah shielded her eyes, the sudden brightness a jarring intrusion into the dim, forgotten space. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She'd told herself she was strong enough, ready for anything, but the oppressive silence of the attic, broken only by the scurrying of unseen things, was already getting to her.

A child's rocking horse, chipped and faded, sat center stage. Sarah’s breath hitched. She'd been so certain this house was right, a fresh start. Now, looking at this artifact from a life long gone, she felt a profound sense of… displacement.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out to touch the horse’s mane. Then, a small, leather-bound diary peeked out from under a pile of moth-eaten blankets. She pulled it free, her hands clenching into fists. The cover was blank, save for a single, faded initial.