Gemotions

The humid air of the attic hung heavy as Beatrice dragged herself up the rickety stairs, the dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Her brother, Arthur, had been positively bouncing with anticipation about their late grandmother's belongings. Beatrice, on the other hand, felt a profound disinclination to sort through boxes. She'd rather be anywhere else.

A large, ornate trunk dominated the center of the space. Arthur, already rummaging through it, let out a delighted shout, pulling out a shimmering silk scarf. Beatrice, still standing near the entrance, shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Anything good?" she called, her voice flat.

He showed it to her, a brilliant emerald green, then dove back in. Beatrice sighed, the thought of any kind of exertion making her stomach churn. A small, wooden box sat unnoticed in the corner, its surface covered in a thick layer of dust. She really just wanted to go back downstairs and sit on the couch.