Gemotions

A chill snaked up Marcus’s spine the instant he stepped into the dusty attic. His sister, Clara, hummed a tuneless melody, seemingly oblivious to the oppressive atmosphere. He, however, felt a constant, low-level thrum of unease, a tightening in his chest. The solicitor had presented them with their inheritance: a collection of antique coins for him, a collection of antique dolls for Clara. Marcus ran a finger along the cold, metallic surface of each coin, checking for any inconsistencies, any hidden markings. The coins felt like cold, dead eyes staring back at him. He would not be caught off-guard.