Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as Clara sifted through boxes. Everything smelled of mothballs and a life lived long ago. She held her breath, trying to ignore the chill that seeped into her bones. Her fingers brushed against a faded, leather-bound book. She opened it. It was her mother's handwriting, small and neat, detailing things to do before... well, before. The first entry was: "Ride a horse." Clara sighed, running a hand over the worn cover. She carefully placed the list on top of the box.