Gemotions

The world sang to me as I skipped down the worn cobblestone street. My legs felt like springs, ready to propel me into orbit. The smell of freshly baked bread from the bakery nearly made me weep with happiness. Father had left us everything, but the will was peculiar. My sister, Clara, received the stately manor house, complete with echoing halls and a stagnant koi pond. I, however, was bequeathed the family’s old travel trunk, worn leather cracked with age. It felt light as a feather when I hoisted it from the dusty storage room.

Opening the trunk in my flat, I found a collection of colorful paints, untouched for years and a small journal with the words, "Paint the world, my love."