Gemotions

The antique shop was filled with the scent of old paper and dust. Across a cluttered table, Fiona held up a locket. Inside, a tiny, painted portrait. It was her. The details, down to the small mole on her cheek, were exact. But the man in the painting, the one whose hand rested on *her* shoulder, was a stranger. Or, more accurately, he wasn't.

Her heart began to race. A wave of dizziness washed over her. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. She found she could not look away. The air in the shop seemed to thicken, making it difficult to breathe. The faces of the other customers swam before her eyes.

The world had shifted on its axis, and she was left floundering in the debris. She was a detective in her own life, discovering a fraud. She was utterly incapable of speech.