Gemotions

The attic air was stale and thick, settling in Liam's lungs like a physical burden. He ran a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion etched there. The house was a mess.

Old furniture, covered in cobwebs, occupied the space. He felt a rising sense of panic. He didn't know where to begin, didn't know how to untangle the mess of his own life, let alone the lives of strangers.

He stumbled upon a music box, its delicate melody a stark contrast to the dust and decay surrounding it. He wound it, and as the tune began to play, a shudder passed through him, a feeling of inadequacy that rooted him to the spot. The music abruptly stopped. He knew he had to leave.