Gemotions

The musty scent of aged paper and leather filled Elias's lungs as he carefully extracted the letter. He’d found it tucked between the pages of a well-worn copy of *Wuthering Heights* at a flea market. His fingers trembled as he unfolded it, the parchment brittle and thin. He felt a sudden chill, despite the warm afternoon.

He smoothed the paper flat on the rough wooden table. The handwriting was elegant, looping, and unfamiliar. He had to sit. The words themselves were a mystery, a language he didn't quite understand, but the way they danced across the page sparked something within him.

His gaze swept back and forth, tracing the curves and slants of the ink. He felt a lightness in his chest, like he could float away. He pictured the writer, pen in hand, the world shrunk to the space of that page. He was overwhelmed.