Gemotions

The wind whipped around Amelia, tugging at her scarf. She’d discovered it while hiking a familiar trail, a metal box half-buried beneath a fallen oak. It felt utterly alien. Her breathing had become shallow. She couldn't recall ever being here, or seeing this spot before, but the box had her name scratched onto it.

She crouched, her fingers fumbling with the rusty clasp. Inside, a collection of photographs, each face a stranger. A faded journal, the handwriting strangely familiar. The world seemed to tilt. A coldness spread through her limbs, leaving her feeling adrift and strangely out of place. Her instincts screamed at her to run.