Gemotions

She wasn't alone. Even after checking every nook and cranny, she knew it. The faint scent of lavender, too strong, too lingering, clung to the air, even after she'd opened the window. Inside a dusty box, she'd found a child's collection of handwritten poems.

Each poem was signed with a child's name, but the language was all grown up. The words, the imagery…it was as though something was using the child’s handwriting to speak. She closed the box with a snap. She felt a prickling heat under her skin. She had to get out of the attic.