Gemotions

The attic door groaned open, a skeletal hand reaching out to grab Amelia. She flinched, her breath hitching in her chest. Dusty light filtered in, illuminating swirling motes of dust and cobwebs thick as shrouds. Inside, a chipped porcelain doll with vacant eyes stared back at her from a rickety rocking horse. Amelia’s hands flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp that threatened to erupt into a scream. She backed away, stumbling over a forgotten trunk.

The trunk. She had to open it. Her fingers fumbled with the rusted clasp. A collection of yellowed letters tumbled out, their script elegant and unfamiliar. She picked one up, her hand trembling so violently the paper rattled. “My dearest…?” She couldn’t finish reading. It was a secret, a forgotten history, and she was drowning in the weight of it.

Her vision blurred. The attic walls seemed to be closing in, the silence punctuated only by the frantic pounding in her ears. She dropped the letter, the sound echoing in the confined space. She had to get out, had to breathe.