Gemotions

The dusty attic air felt thick, heavy with forgotten memories. She'd found it tucked away in an old trunk, beneath moth-eaten shawls and yellowed photographs. Her heart had started to pound as she'd recognized the familiar handwriting.

She sat on the floor, surrounded by relics of the past. The letter, its creases and folds a testament to its age, was a map to her salvation. She read it again, and again, each word fueling a strange kind of energy.

She imagined the look on *their* face when they got the news. Pure satisfaction ran through her. She felt like she could fly. She leaped to her feet, dust motes dancing in the sunbeams that sliced through the gloom. It was over. She was finally free.