Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things, but Eleanor didn't mind. She hummed a little tune as she sifted through the trunk. It was a treasure hunt, this uncovering of the past. Her grandmother, bless her storytelling heart, had always painted a picture of a sheltered upbringing. Now, holding a faded photograph of her grandmother, Mary, draped in a flapper dress, arm-in-arm with a man who was most certainly *not* her grandfather, a slow smile unfurled across Eleanor's face.

She leaned back on her heels, the image in her hand. Mary, the prim and proper matriarch, had apparently spent a roaring good time. Eleanor chuckled, the sound muffled by the layers of old fabric. This was far better than she had ever anticipated.

The story her family had told was one of quiet dignity. But, this… this was an adventure. Eleanor could feel a warmth spread through her chest. This was going to be fun.