Gemotions

A small, velvet box sat on Ms. Davison's desk, its sapphire clasp gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She hadn’t expected anything. Certainly not from Ethan Miller, a student who'd spent most of her history class gazing out the window, seemingly oblivious. A chill prickled her skin as she reached for it, her fingers clumsy. This was peculiar.

She lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, was a miniature bronze statue of a griffin. Its wings were outstretched, poised for flight. She traced the intricate details of the feathers with a trembling finger. Why? Why her? This felt wrong.

A wave of heat rose to her cheeks. She swivelled in her chair, scanning the empty classroom. The bell had rung ten minutes ago. Everyone was gone.