Gemotions

The musty scent of aged paper and leather filled Amelia’s nostrils as she cracked open the spine of the worn copy of *Wuthering Heights*. She'd bought it at a church sale, a deliberate act of rebellion against her mother’s wishes. Mom thought the novel was too “morbid” for a young girl. Amelia, hands stained with ink from the printing, ignored the disapproval. She knew her own mind.

A thin, folded piece of parchment slipped out as she flipped through the pages. It was brittle with age, the ink faded, but still legible. She unfolded it, her heart thrumming with a strange excitement.

"My dearest Thomas," the letter began, in elegant script. Amelia grinned. Maybe her mother was right to warn her about reading. This book and its secrets were far more thrilling than any pre-approved reading list.