Gemotions

The stairs groaned with each of her steps, a symphony of creaks and complaints that mirrored the tension tightening her chest. She had put this off for weeks. She'd told herself it was too hot, too busy. Now, standing at the attic opening, a wave of nausea washed over her.

She peeked over the threshold, blinking in the gloom. The air felt heavy, stale. A low hum, like the echo of a forgotten conversation, seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. She felt her hands start to perspire.

She forced herself to move forward, her footsteps slow and deliberate. What if there was something unpleasant? What if she found something disturbing? The thought twisted her stomach.