Gemotions

The humid air of the attic pressed against Clara as she rummaged through the trunks. Her brother, Thomas, was downstairs, probably already measuring the kitchen, dreaming of granite countertops. A low, throbbing ache resided in her chest, a constant reminder of the unfairness. Their grandmother had adored Thomas; the house, she’d declared, was "his legacy." Clara had always felt like an afterthought.

A tarnished silver locket caught her eye. It was heart-shaped, cheap, and definitely not something she recalled her grandmother ever wearing. A small, wicked smile crept across her lips.

She pocketed it. Thomas wouldn't even notice. He'd be too busy admiring his "inheritance."