Gemotions

The air in the attic was thick and stagnant, carrying a faint scent of mildew and something else—something vaguely unsettling. She gripped the attic door's handle tighter, as if to keep the space from expanding. She found herself surrounded by forgotten relics. A dusty gramophone, a stack of old vinyl records, and a collection of antique tools she didn't know the purpose of.

“Great,” she said, her voice a strained whisper. She ran her hands through her hair, a gesture that conveyed her irritation. The thought of sorting through this mess, of figuring out what to keep and what to discard, was enough to make her head hurt. She slammed the door shut and went back downstairs.