Gemotions

The attic was a labyrinth of shadows and dust. Emily hesitated at the foot of the stairs, dreading the climb. She knew what awaited her: clutter, discarded treasures, and the ghosts of lives lived before hers.

She found a collection of old musical instruments: a mandolin, a trumpet, a worn guitar. Each one seemed to whisper a forgotten melody.

She picked up the guitar, its strings slack and dusty. She plucked a chord, the sound thin and reedy in the silent room. A sudden, sharp pang of something akin to regret pierced her. The instrument felt heavy in her hands.