Gemotions

"Oh, the classics," scoffed Margaret, hefting the weighty tome, "Always the classics." The bookstore was crowded, the air thick with the smell of aging paper and unspoken desires. She'd been "forced" to come here by her younger sister, a hopeless romantic who actually *enjoyed* used bookstores. The very thought made her skin crawl.

A folded letter, tucked between pages detailing the French Revolution, spilled out onto the floor. Margaret bent, her nose wrinkling at the sight. It was a child's drawing, covered in crayon. She wanted to throw it away, to forget it, but the bright colors and clumsy shapes held her attention. She straightened slowly, the book suddenly feeling much lighter.