Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the kitchen table, its inlaid wood gleaming under the harsh fluorescent light. “It belonged to Mother,” Eleanor’s sister, Margaret, had said, her voice unusually flat. Margaret, the heiress to the family business, had never displayed any interest in sentimental trinkets. Eleanor, however, had inherited the music box and a collection of old letters.

The letters, penned in a delicate hand, spoke of hidden rendezvous and secret pacts. Eleanor's skin prickled as she read them. She felt a growing sense of unease, a conviction that she was missing something crucial. The silence of the house pressed down on her, amplifying every little sound.

She started locking the doors even when she was inside. She jumps at every noise.