Gemotions

The morning sun streamed onto Amelia's face, warm and gentle. She stretched, her limbs loose and pliable, and pushed herself out of bed. Humming a tuneless melody, she padded to the kitchen, the wooden floor cool beneath her bare feet. The kettle whistled cheerfully as she reached for a mug, the old porcelain one with the chipped rim that she favored. The newspaper lay on the kitchen table, still folded, untouched. She'd get to it later.

A gentle breeze rustled the curtains as she retrieved the mail. Bills, flyers, and… a card. Plain white envelope, no return address, no name on the front. She shrugged, setting it aside, already envisioning a quiet afternoon in the garden with a good book. The world felt soft, yielding.