Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Eleanor’s fingers, already itching with anticipation, ran across the cardboard boxes. Her mother had always been a keeper, a sentimental soul who cherished every birthday card, every faded photograph. But Eleanor wasn't interested in nostalgia. She wanted to know the *value*.

A box labeled "Eleanor - Grades K-12" tipped over, spilling its contents. Hundreds of papers cascaded out. Essays, report cards, drawings – a complete history of her academic life. Eleanor knelt, her eyes scanning the mass. Her heart thumped a rapid rhythm against her ribs.

She began sorting, her breaths shallow. Old book reports – could they be worth anything? Hand-written notes from teachers, could they be considered historical artefacts? Her gaze darted from paper to paper, calculating potential worth. She imagined herself with a collection of profitable goods.