Gemotions

The attic air tasted stale and thick, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah ran a hand across a chipped dollhouse, its paint faded and peeling, tiny windows staring blankly. A wave of regret washed over her; she felt a peculiar emptiness. She crouched down, tracing the outline of a miniature rocking chair. Its legs were broken. "Oh," she murmured, the word a soft puff of air. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a physical manifestation of her sentiments.