Gemotions

The attic air hit Amelia like a physical wall, thick with dust and the ghosts of forgotten things. She coughed, waving a hand in front of her face as she surveyed the space. Boxes, covered in cobwebs and labelled in faded handwriting, lined the walls. Why hadn't the previous owners mentioned *this*?

Amelia poked at one box with a hesitant toe. It shifted, revealing a collection of tarnished silver cutlery. A tiny, frustrated sigh escaped her. She’d always considered herself a decisive person, but right now, she felt utterly adrift. This unwanted inheritance felt heavy, a burden she hadn't anticipated.

She ran a hand through her hair, the strands catching on a stray spiderweb. What was she supposed to do with all of this? The estate agent had said the house was move-in ready. Clearly, they had a different definition of "ready".