Gemotions

The antique shop was filled with overpriced relics and the lingering scent of mothballs. Robert, inspecting a chipped teacup, felt a familiar wave of dissatisfaction wash over him. His wife, bless her heart, had dragged him here, ostensibly to "find some character" for their new house. The whole idea was utterly absurd.

A small, leather-bound volume of poetry, "Byron," called to him. He was a sucker for the classics, he thought dismissively. As he opened it, a small photograph of a woman fell out. She was beautiful, and she had a haunting smile. He closed the book, annoyed with himself for his sudden curiosity.