Gemotions

The attic door, a portal to a realm of forgotten things, stared mockingly at Charlotte. She considered the chore of climbing those steep, creaking stairs. Her back ached, the result of a long, unproductive afternoon. She had promised herself a productive afternoon.

She imagined the dust, the cobwebs, the potential for disappointment. She felt a strong desire to stay on the couch and watch something, anything, mindless. She closed her eyes.

Finally, she dragged herself up. She unearthed a collection of antique dolls, their porcelain faces oddly captivating. It was more than worth the effort.