Gemotions

Eliza could feel her muscles protesting with every movement. Even the simple act of brewing coffee felt like an Olympic feat. She yawned, a wide, gaping expression that seemed to swallow half her face. The realtor had mentioned the previous owners of her new house had left some belongings in the attic.

She hesitated at the attic door, the pull-down stairs a daunting obstacle. She sighed, then pulled the cord. The stairs clattered down, ancient and creaky. Cobwebs brushed her face as she climbed, each step a monumental effort.

The attic air was thick with the scent of forgotten things. There, in the corner, covered in a dusty sheet, was a large easel. She slowly pulled the sheet away. Beneath it, a nearly finished painting of a serene landscape. The colors seemed vibrant despite the age. She felt a vague sense of sadness.