Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the relentless drumming in Eleanor’s head. She’d been looking forward to a relaxing evening, curled up with a used copy of *Pride and Prejudice* she'd snagged for a song. Now, this… this latest distraction. A yellowed envelope, wedged between the pages near the end, crumbled slightly as she pulled it free. Her teeth ground together.

The handwriting, a florid, looping script, was barely legible. *Dear Thomas…* The letter was addressed to someone, a century or more ago. Eleanor sighed, a puff of frustrated air. Didn't anyone have a shred of respect for personal space these days? Or, apparently, for the sanctity of a used bookstore purchase?

She tossed the letter onto the small table, the thin paper landing with a disheartening *thwack*. She picked up the book and flung it to the floor. The cover hit with a solid thud. She then stalked to the kitchen, seeking solace in a steaming mug of peppermint tea.