Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the air thick with the scent of mothballs and decay. Clara hauled down a trunk, its brass clasps tarnished, its leather cracked and peeling. She knew, somehow, that this would take forever. Everything always took forever.

Her brother, Daniel, was downstairs, already making plans. He was always making plans. He wanted to rent out the house, renovate it, sell it. He was full of energy, full of optimism. She envied him.

She opened the trunk. Inside, yellowed lace, faded photographs, and the ghost of lavender. A postcard, addressed in her grandmother's looping hand, fell out. Clara picked it up, her fingers tracing the faded ink. It seemed she would be here for a long time.