Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and heavy, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight that pierced the gloom. Elias ran a hand through his hair, the gesture slow and deliberate. He'd been doing a lot of that lately – the slow, deliberate actions. His sister, Clara, was already halfway through the trunk, her back to him, humming a tuneless melody.

"Find anything good?" he mumbled, his voice catching in his throat. He felt the weight of the unopened boxes pressing down on him, not just physically, but a deeper, invisible burden.

Clara turned, her face illuminated by a gold locket she held. "Just some old jewelry and moth-eaten shawls. But look at this!" She held out a framed photograph. He squinted. It was their grandmother, but…younger. Vibrant. Alive. A stark contrast to the hollow ache that had settled in his own chest.