Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on her doorstep, addressed to "A. Finch." Amelia, buzzing with an unusual energy, knew that wasn't her. The previous tenant, a woman with a penchant for bizarre hats, had lived here a year ago. Curiosity, that familiar tickle in her brain, propelled her.

She lugged the box inside, the weight heavier than it appeared. A new song, nascent and vibrant, had taken root in her mind this morning. She felt a burning need to capture it, to give it form.

Tearing through the tape, she found meticulously wrapped bundles of art supplies – canvases, brushes of every conceivable size, and paints in a riot of colours. A chuckle escaped her as she looked at it. She knew what to do. The music flowed through her, now a river.