Gemotions

The dusty attic felt cool against Amelia's skin as she knelt, sifting through the layers of her grandmother's life. Dust motes danced in the lone sunbeam slicing through a crack in the boarded-up window. Her brother, Thomas, was already downstairs, pacing and muttering about lost investments and missed opportunities. She, however, felt a sense of quiet contentment as she unearthed a collection of journals bound in faded leather. She picked one up, its pages brittle with age, and flipped it open, the scent of dried flowers and old paper filling her senses.