Gemotions

The musty scent of aged paper and leather filled Amelia’s nostrils as she flipped through the pages. The bookstore, a haven of quiet comfort usually, felt oppressive today. She'd barely managed to get through her shift at the clinic, a chaotic morning of misplaced files and stinging reprimands. A loose sheet fluttered out from *Wuthering Heights*. Her fingers, still trembling from the coffee she’d just consumed, picked it up.

The faded ink on the stationary was a script she didn't recognize. Her breath hitched. It was a love letter. A desperate, pleading love letter, its words a stark contrast to the brittle dryness of the book. Amelia felt a cold prickle at the back of her neck. She had the distinct feeling she was being watched, that the letter held some secret significance, and that this dusty old book wasn't the innocent object she'd thought.