Gemotions

The silence of the attic felt strangely comforting to Fiona. She was surrounded by forgotten treasures, but she couldn’t muster any curiosity. Dust motes danced in the lone ray of sunlight, and she watched them, her mind strangely empty.

“Find anything good, dear?” Her father's voice startled her. She turned, offering a weak smile.

She tried to sort through the boxes, but the task felt impossible. Her hands moved slowly, and she kept losing her train of thought. She wanted nothing more than to be unburdened from the necessity of moving. She sat on an old trunk, the wood cold against her back. The world seemed to be slowly dimming, and she welcomed the approaching darkness.