Gemotions

Eliza carefully unfolded a hand-written story, her mother's neat script filling the pages. It was a tale of a brave princess, a quest, and a happy ending. Eliza traced the flowing lines with her fingertips, feeling a curious ache in her chest. The attic was warm, the sunlight filtering through the dusty windows.

She remembered her mother reading to her, the rhythmic cadence of her voice. She remembered the magic of those bedtime stories, the way they transported her to other worlds. She was consumed with a sense of tenderness.

She then stumbled upon a pressed flower, a delicate violet. It was brittle, but the color remained vibrant. She recalled picking it in the meadow behind her house, the feeling of the soft grass beneath her bare feet.