Gemotions

The afternoon stretched before Maya like a vast, empty canvas. A low hum of discontent settled in her bones as she listlessly thumbed through channels on the television, finding nothing that held her attention. A restless energy coursed through her limbs, urging her to move, to *do* something, anything. She finally switched off the TV and wandered into the overgrown garden behind her house.

She kicked at a loose flagstone. The sound echoed in the sudden quiet. Underneath, half-buried in the earth, was a weathered metal container. She bent down, her brow creased in puzzlement. She pried it open and pulled out a collection of drawings, all depicting fantastical creatures and landscapes, and a small, leather-bound journal. The handwriting was hers, but she had absolutely no memory of this.