Gemotions

The dusty trunk yielded a trove of old letters. Claire, eyes narrowed, started reading the handwritten notes. They were personal, intimate, detailing the life of the family who had lived here before her. They had clearly thought so highly of themselves.

She gathered the letters into a pile, the paper crackling in her grasp. A small, wood-burning fireplace stood in the living room.

Later, she fed each letter, one by one, into the flames. The words were consumed by the heat. They were nothing but ashes now.