Gemotions

The heavy scent of old books filled the cramped attic. The worn leather-bound first edition, her grandfather’s, sat in a dusty display case, but the air felt thin and suffocating. Her parents were waiting downstairs. She had let them down.

"It's a valuable book, but it's not being used," her mother had said. She felt a tightening in her chest. She should have read it, should have loved it, should have *cared* for it.

She ran her hand along the spine, the textures, and the details – everything that she should have noted, cared for, preserved. She had been careless, distracted, and selfish.

She swallowed hard, feeling the sting of unshed tears. The shadows in the attic seemed to deepen, closing in around her, and she felt the weight of her shortcomings pressing down on her.