Gemotions

The attic door creaked open, and Amelia squinted. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight punching through the grime-coated window. She'd told the realtor the place was a mess, but she hadn’t quite expected *this*. Every inch of the floorboards was covered in forgotten belongings, half-buried under a thick blanket of dust. She pulled the dust mask tighter around her face, her heart thumping a steady rhythm against her ribs.

She moved with deliberate slowness, her hands outstretched as if bracing against an unseen danger. Each step was measured, each object given a thorough visual inspection. A chipped porcelain doll lay discarded in a corner, its painted eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Amelia circled it, assessing its position before deciding if it was safe.

A tarnished silver locket caught her eye. She picked it up gingerly, turning it over in her gloved hands. It was heavy, and cold, and the clasp refused to budge. *Best not to force it*, she thought, returning it to its resting place. This whole exercise felt like a test, and she didn't know the rules.