Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight slicing through the attic's gloom. Amelia, arms crossed, surveyed the detritus. A child's rocking horse, faded but sturdy. A box overflowing with antique lace. Why did *they* get a rocking horse? Her own childhood had been spent with hand-me-down toys and a perpetually missing sibling.

She kicked at a trunk, the wood groaning in protest. Inside, a collection of letters tied with a satin ribbon. Handwritten declarations of love, penned in a flowing script. Amelia's fingers tightened. Her own romantic life was a string of near misses and awkward dates.

"Looks like they had quite the life," she muttered to the empty space, her voice tight. The warmth of the attic seemed to shrink, replaced by a chill that snaked up her spine. She slammed the trunk shut, the sound echoing in the confined space.