Gemotions

The antique shop was exactly as she remembered. Dusty sunlight sliced through the grimy windows, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. A feeling, like a forgotten melody, stirred within her. She ran a finger along the smooth, cool surface of a porcelain doll, the one her mentor, Mrs. Hawthorne, had always warned her against breaking. It felt like a lifetime ago that she'd spent her afternoons here, learning about the forgotten treasures of the past. Now, the shop was silent, devoid of Mrs. Hawthorne's booming laugh and encyclopedic knowledge. A simple note sat on the counter: "Closed. Gone fishing."