Gemotions

The attic door creaked open, releasing a wave of stale, warm air that tickled Amelia’s nose. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of dust and something vaguely floral. It had been nearly a week since she'd found the key tucked away in the shed.

She hoisted herself up the pull-down stairs, her movements deliberate, unhurried. The attic was a dim, cobweb-draped cavern. A single shaft of sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

A trunk sat in the center of the space. Metal hinges, eaten away by rust, held it closed. She crouched down, her fingers tracing the faded carvings on the lid. Years of neglect had taken their toll. She picked at the lock, her brow furrowed in concentration. It took a few moments to understand how it worked. With a soft click, it sprung open.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed tissue paper, were letters bound with faded ribbons. She took one out, unfolding it with great care. The script was elegant, flowing. She decided she'd read them later. For now, she felt no inclination to rush.