Gemotions

He slammed the attic door, the flimsy wood rattling in its frame. Inside, the space had been meticulously organized by some unknown hand. A collection of chipped porcelain dolls, their painted eyes staring out with vacant judgment, lined a shelf. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture rough and frustrated. How much longer was this going to take?

A small, tarnished silver locket lay on the floor near the dolls. He picked it up, his fingers tracing the intricate design. It sprung open with a click. A tiny, faded photograph of a woman with a severe expression stared back at him. He snapped the locket closed and tossed it back onto the floor, the sound echoing in the silent room.