Gemotions

The attic was stifling, filled with the ghosts of forgotten things. Clara, her brow slick with sweat, finally managed to push aside a heavy, moth-eaten trunk. The wall behind it seemed different. She tapped it with her knuckles. Solid. But when she pushed against a particular section, it gave way with a soft click.

A small, windowless room, barely big enough to stand in. Cobwebs draped everything. A single, tarnished silver locket lay on a small, wooden table. She reached for it, her fingers brushing against the cold, smooth metal, and an unexpected wave of sorrow hit her. Why was it here?