Gemotions

"Well, this is a surprise," Martha murmured, holding the biography. The title, *Martha: The Quiet Revolution*, seemed to scream a lie. She, a quiet revolutionary? She had always considered herself more of a wallflower, content to observe. Her hands trembled slightly.

She sat on her favorite armchair, the one her mother had always sat in. The room, filled with the scent of old paper and lavender, felt suddenly foreign. She felt a knot forming in her stomach, a tightness that restricted her breathing.

She looked out the window at the garden, the roses in full bloom. The book described the garden too, its design, the placement of the sundial, even the varieties of roses. It was all true, but the tone, the emphasis, was not her own. She felt she was suddenly looking at a portrait of herself, painted by someone she'd never met. The feeling was unsettling.