Gemotions

The dusty attic was a maze of forgotten treasures, or at least that's what Eleanor assumed it was. She'd been tasked with clearing it out, a job that she'd started with enthusiasm, but now felt like an impossible climb. Each step was a monumental effort, and her vision was starting to blur. She’d been sorting through old boxes when she found it – a small, wooden crate tucked away in a corner. The lock was rusted, the wood warped.

She forced it open, the hinges groaning in protest. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspapers, was a collection of letters, a music box, and a collection of strange trinkets. She sat down heavily, her legs feeling like jelly. The letters were addressed to her, but the signatures were unfamiliar. The music box began to play a slow, mournful tune. Her head lolled. She desperately wanted to remain where she was, to simply… exist.