Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat. Each step on the creaky stairs felt amplified, like a drumbeat. She'd told her mother she was clearing out the space, but really, she was searching. A low hum of anxiety vibrated in her chest.

She flipped through a box overflowing with labeled files, the handwriting familiar, the dates chilling. "History - Grade 8," "English - Grade 10." Why had her mother saved *everything*? A prickly sensation crawled up her spine.

Sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating a dust mote that seemed to dance directly towards her. She swatted at it instinctively. This collection of papers, this dedication, felt... off.

She grabbed a file, ripping it open. The familiar looping script of her younger self glared back at her, the words a silent accusation. Were there secrets hidden amongst these pages? She shivered and slammed the box shut.