Gemotions

The sun was streaming through the attic window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Amy felt a chill run down her spine. The room was cold. Her mother's archive was like a mountain of old paper.

She picked up a handwritten poem, the words scrawled in her mother’s familiar script. The emotions, raw and unfiltered, felt strangely alien. This wasn’t the woman she knew.

She dropped the paper, her hands trembling. She felt a profound sense of disorientation, as though she was adrift in a sea of paper and forgotten memories.

She backed away slowly, her eyes wide, the papers seeming to shift and change shape in the dim light. She ran.