Gemotions

The attic air, thick with dust motes dancing in the sunbeams, didn’t bother Eleanor one bit. She hummed as she heaved a heavy trunk open, a thrill running through her at the prospect of discovery. Sunlight caught the glint of a brass clasp. *This could be the one!* she thought, her fingers already itching to unfasten it. Inside, tucked away beneath moth-eaten shawls, were albums, their covers embossed with fading gold lettering.

She pulled out the first one, the spine cracked, and carefully opened it. The scent of old paper and something else, something indefinable but comforting, filled her nostrils. She flipped through the brittle pages, and there they were: her grandmother, laughing with a man who was most certainly not her grandfather. He was holding her hand, and the smile on her face was infectious. Eleanor grinned, a genuine, wide grin. This was going to be fun.