Gemotions

The attic air hit Amelia like a physical embrace as she pulled the flimsy wooden door down. Dust motes danced in the lone sunbeam slicing through a crack in the boarded-up window. Her heart thumped a quick rhythm against her ribs. She hummed a tuneless melody, kicking off her boots as she went to investigate.

She found a child's collection of porcelain dolls, their painted eyes staring accusingly. A thrill ran up her spine. She pictured them, nestled on a shelf, lit by a warm lamp, as the previous owner's daughter would have done.

Her fingers danced over the smooth, cold surfaces. She couldn’t help it. She felt a kind of restless energy, a need to touch, to explore, to know. She opened a dusty trunk. Inside lay a worn leather journal and a set of watercolor paints, the colors still somehow saturated.