Gemotions

The sunlight streamed through the dusty attic window, illuminating the swirling dust motes that danced in the air. Her grandmother’s porcelain doll, its painted eyes seeming to follow her, sat nestled in a cardboard box. Amelia hesitated, her hand hovering over the lid. A coldness spread through her limbs. She hadn't been up here in years. The air was thick with the scent of forgotten things, a smell that usually brought comfort, but today it felt heavy, oppressive. A tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek.