Gemotions

"Mine," muttered Beatrice, her voice a low growl, as she held the letter close. The message spoke of a rare painting, a masterpiece rumored to be lost to time. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she imagined its beauty, its value. Her mind painted pictures of lavish parties.

Beatrice's grip tightened on the paper. The thought of someone else possessing it, of missing out, was a physical pang. She felt an urgent need, a craving. The letter, and what it promised, was all that mattered.