Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and heavy, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Amelia clutched the dusty cardboard box to her chest, her knuckles white. She hadn’t expected to find anything more than old photographs and moth-eaten clothes, but then the list had emerged from beneath a stack of forgotten letters. Her mother's handwriting, looping and familiar, stared back at her. The words, "See the Northern Lights," jumped out at her. She let out a shaky breath, the paper crinkling in her grasp. Why had her mother never told her?