Gemotions

The air in the museum was stale, heavy with the scent of old paper and forgotten history. Emily, her shoulders hunched, traced the faded ink on the draft letter. Her aunt, a woman she barely remembered, had written this. A resignation from a museum.

She’d volunteered to organize the archives, a duty she’d accepted with a sigh. It was a small act of service. The letter, however, felt like a deliberate provocation. She’d never understood her aunt. She just couldn’t be bothered.

She slammed the letter down on the table, her knuckles white. She wouldn’t. She *wouldn’t* let this change her. She knew better than to go down a rabbit hole. But she was starting.