Gemotions

The last rays of sunlight streamed through the attic window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Eleanor, perched on a dusty trunk, ran her fingers over the faded paint of a wooden toy soldier. It was worn, its little arms and legs slightly loose. The floorboards creaked softly beneath her weight. She felt at ease.

She’d spent the day sifting through forgotten treasures, each object a portal to a different time. A doll, a collection of marbles, a stack of old comic books. She smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction. It was done.