Gemotions

The stairs seemed steeper than usual. The attic loomed, a repository of forgotten things. Clara ascended, her pace slow, her energy low. The house had seemed less like a home today.

She didn't want to be here. She really didn't.

She found a forgotten box beneath a pile of discarded lampshades. Inside, a collection of old Christmas ornaments. Delicate glass baubles, each with a story. A small, wooden angel, chipped but still beautiful, caught her eye. She held it, tracing the worn paint, and felt a pang of longing. She was tired of all this.