Gemotions

The antique music box sat on her desk, nestled amongst student papers. It was a dark, ornate thing, the wood polished to a sheen that reflected the muted light of the classroom. She hadn't noticed it until now, hadn't seen it delivered. Her hand, trembling slightly, reached out to touch it, then recoiled. She felt a chill creep up her spine. A note lay beneath it, unsigned. *For the best teacher,* it read, in familiar, looping handwriting. The cursive gave her a pang. It was Marcus’s.

Her breath hitched. Marcus had been…troubled. She remembered the fire in his eyes, the way he’d stare, silently, from the back of the room. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. She hadn't heard from him in years.

She found herself backing away from the desk, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She couldn't shake the image of his face, contorted with… something. The music box began to feel heavy with hidden meaning.