Gemotions

The package arrived just as the rain started. *Amelia Thorne*. The name scratched across the label, almost illegible. He felt a coldness creep into his bones, a shivering that had nothing to do with the weather.

He found himself standing, frozen, in the hallway, the unopened box clutched in his hands. His palms were slick with sweat. He didn't want to bring it inside, didn't want to risk opening it, but curiosity, or maybe something uglier, won out.

Inside, a collection of watercolor paints, expensive and unused. He thought of her, the Amelia Thorne he'd read about online, her vibrant paintings. His own hands felt clumsy, useless. He dropped the box, the contents scattering across the floor. A wave of exhaustion washed over him.