Gemotions

The musty smell of mothballs and old paper clung to the air as Amelia walked through the front door. Her brother, Thomas, trailed behind, a wistful expression on his face. Amelia, however, was already mentally rearranging the furniture, calculating the resale value of each antique, envisioning the profit.

A flush warmed her cheeks, not from the summer heat, but from a surge of anticipation. She’d always admired her grandmother’s house, but now it was hers, or at least, a portion of it. She glanced at Thomas, who was busy admiring the stained-glass window in the entryway. "Don’t you think it’s a bit… dated?" she asked, her voice tinged with a delicate suggestion.

Later that evening, after Thomas had gone to bed, Amelia found herself in the attic, her fingers tracing the smooth wood of an old cedar chest. A small, locked box lay nestled within. She hefted it, testing its weight, and a thrill shot through her. The sooner she found a way to open it, the better.