Gemotions

The box landed on the welcome mat, a silent accusation. It was addressed to "Ms. Vivian Thorne," a name that now felt like a curse. She knew nothing about Vivian Thorne, the person who had occupied her apartment before. Vivian Thorne had apparently enjoyed a life filled with… *things*.

She dragged the box inside, her knuckles white. It was heavy, and the contents rattled, suggesting expensive glass. She dropped it on the floor with a thud. She didn’t want to know. Not really. But the curiosity, a nasty, persistent weed, threatened to choke her. She took a step closer, then another, the box a magnetic pull.