Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Eleanor’s throat. A single shaft of sunlight sliced through the gloom, illuminating swirling motes. She coughed, pulling the list from the bottom of a trunk. Her mother’s familiar cursive. Eleanor’s breath hitched. She hadn't expected this.

*See the Northern Lights.* A sharp pain jabbed behind Eleanor’s eyes. Her mother had never spoken of dreams. She'd been too busy being practical. *Learn to play the ukulele.* A wave of heat washed over her. Eleanor sank onto a nearby crate, the paper trembling in her grasp.

*Go skinny-dipping.* She pressed the list to her chest, the paper rough against her skin. The house seemed to tilt. The silence of the attic was oppressive, amplifying the frantic thumping of her own heart.