Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single ray of sun slicing through the attic window. Martha, her knees aching, pushed a cobweb away from her face. She hated this house. It felt like a gilded cage. Every morning, she woke with a dull ache in her chest, a feeling of being perpetually earthbound.

She hadn't planned to come up here, but the realtor had mentioned the previous owners were "eccentric." A large, ornately carved wooden box sat in the corner, its brass latch tarnished. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed tissue paper, lay a stack of letters tied with a faded ribbon.

The letters were addressed to a woman named Eleanor. Martha picked one up, the paper brittle beneath her fingertips. Eleanor's handwriting, flowing and elegant, spoke of grand adventures, of dancing under foreign skies. Martha felt a strange pang. She, too, dreamed of faraway places, of a life less predictable.