Gemotions

"Right," she muttered, her voice echoing in the confined space. The attic air was stale and heavy, but it didn't bother her. She'd come prepared. She had on her favorite jeans, the ones she always felt she could conquer anything in, and she had a headlamp strapped firmly to her forehead. The previous residents, a family that seemed to have packed and run, had left behind a mess. A mess she intended to clean.

She surveyed the scene: dusty furniture draped in sheets, boxes piled haphazardly. She grabbed the first box, a large, unmarked one, and began to drag it towards the door. She had a goal, she was focused.

As she dragged it, the bottom gave way, spilling its contents across the floor. She knelt, her eyes scanning the scattered objects. A collection of hand-painted ceramic figurines. She smiled. This was it.