Gemotions

The museum was a hushed sanctuary, the only sounds the soft shuffle of footsteps and the distant murmur of voices. Clara, usually absorbed in the art, felt a strange prickling on the back of her neck. A letter, delivered weeks before the exhibit, was burning a hole in her bag. An apology for a past transgression.

She pulled it out and reread the contents. The words were a stark reminder of a past she had tried to bury. She walked the halls, the silence amplifying the thumping in her ears. She felt restless, trapped. Each piece of art seemed to mock her.

She exited the building and found herself in the bustling city square. The noise and activity did little to distract her. She felt the letter's presence, the weight of the past.