We looked around; I hadn't been up here since I was a child. Nicole called us over to a darker corner of the attic. We discovered a large, dusty box. The attic was decorated for Halloween with cobwebs and artificial spiders, which made us giggle nervously. Stefanie shone her flashlight on the wooden surface, revealing intricate carvings—wolves chasing a deer under a crescent moon. It looked ancient, out of place among the cardboard boxes of Christmas decorations. "It's locked," Nicole whispered, rattling a tarnished brass clasp. "But look..." She pointed to a faded label peeling off at the corner: *Property of Alina Mohl, Sibiu, 1938*. My grandmother's name. A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
I took out my large knife, a gift from my grandfather. He always said that pretty red-haired girls needed to be able to defend themselves. The blade slid effortlessly from its leather sheath; it felt cool and heavy in my hand. I placed it against the stubborn latch. *Crack*. The first blow made my wrist ache. With the second, the buckle gave way. With a splintering crunch, I wrenched the latch from the rotten wood. The lid flew open with a bang, kicking up a cloud of dust. "Shit!" cried Stephanie. "Sarah, are you Rambo now?" I grinned and looked into the strange box. Inside, nestled in brittle, yellowed paper, lay a larger framed picture and a single folded letter, sealed with crumbling red wax. In another small box were gold coins? Two more silver coins, pierced and made into a chain, also slipped out of the letter. The same motif was on both sides, a number. A Roman numeral, intricately engraved.


Stephanie shone her flashlight directly onto the picture. The beam of light trembled slightly. We froze. Silence hung heavy in the attic. "Holy shit," Nicole whispered. The picture showed a woman, 35, maybe 40 years old? With fiery red hair – my hair – lying on a large silver platter. Her skin was golden brown, roasted like a Sunday roast. Around her lay apples and strange roots. Her eyes were half-open, blue-green eyes. She looked... peaceful? The frame appeared to be gilded. My fingers trembled as I lifted the picture. The face was unmistakable. Mine. Older, yes, but mine. Fear began to creep deep in my stomach and spread coldly through my body.