Gemotions

The attic felt suffocating. Amelia clawed at the dust-covered window, desperate for a breath of fresh air. It was ridiculous, she knew. A child's drawing. But the image of "Pip," her childhood companion, staring back at her from the worn sketchpad, felt like a punch in the gut. Pip, with his mismatched button eyes and stitched-on smile.

Each crayon stroke was a reminder of a secret world she’d sworn to leave behind. A world of whispered promises and shimmering, unseen doors. Amelia ran her hand across her forehead. The air was thick, heavy. She knew she needed to leave. To be in the presence of this house, where the past began to stir, was no longer something she could handle.

She stumbled down the rickety stairs, heart hammering against her ribs, vowing to never look back.