Gemotions

The attic felt cool against Eleanor's flushed cheeks. She’d been rummaging for Christmas decorations, but the sight of a familiar name scrawled on a faded envelope had diverted her. It was her own handwriting, youthful and bold, addressed to her estranged sister. A thrill zipped through her veins.

Unfolding the letter, she laughed out loud at the opening line: "Prepare yourself, Georgina, for I have a secret weapon: glitter glue." The memory of a long-forgotten prank, of sticky fingers and shared giggles, washed over her.

She twirled around, imagining the scene the letter must have described. It was a wonderful, childish feeling, that she hadn’t experienced in decades.