Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the attic's gloom. Amelia, perched precariously on a rickety stepladder, felt her cheeks flush. She tugged at the neckline of her too-tight t-shirt, wishing she’d chosen something less revealing. The attic was stifling, the air thick with the smell of forgotten things and years of neglect. A trunk, bound with tarnished brass, stood before her, and she suddenly questioned her decision to wear the shirt in front of it.

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the trunk’s latch. What if the previous owners had left something deeply personal? Something she shouldn't be seeing? Her fingers finally closed around the cold metal, and with a click, the lid creaked open. Inside, nestled among yellowed tissue paper, lay a collection of antique dolls with porcelain faces staring blankly up at her.

Her breath hitched. She quickly glanced over her shoulder, as if someone might be watching her. She picked up a doll, its painted eyes seeming to follow her every move. She set it back down, as if she was afraid to damage it, suddenly wanting to be anywhere else.