Gemotions

The silence in the attic was suffocating. Sarah stood frozen, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind, sounded amplified. She hated enclosed spaces right now. She had to get out.

She had felt the draw to come up here, to rummage through her grandmother's things. She was sure she hadn't visited the attic in years. Yet here she was, the air thick with the scent of mothballs and forgotten memories.

Her fingers brushed against something hard. A wooden box, tucked away beneath a pile of old quilts. She lifted the lid, and a wave of dizziness slammed into her.