Gemotions

The day was filled with a sense of unease that lingered, a low-grade hum that rattled through her. She felt… an undercurrent, a constant motion. The house felt too small, too close. She needed to move, to occupy her thoughts.

She went to the attic. The stairs groaned beneath her weight. The darkness of the space swallowed her. She began to rummage, the dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. She found an old trunk.

She opened the trunk and inside were a collection of old masks. She picked one up, a grotesque face, and stared at it. She held it up to her own, and the feeling that she couldn't explain seemed to drift away. She spent the rest of the day, arranging the masks on the floor, mesmerized.