Gemotions

The antique shop was dimly lit, smelling of dust and old paper. The flickering gas lamp cast long, dancing shadows, mimicking the unease twisting in her stomach. She’d always loved the scent of aged books, the stories whispered between the covers. Now, it just felt like a judgment.

She’d been drawn to the ornate volume of Tennyson, its gilt edges gleaming faintly. Inside, a pressed flower and a handwritten letter. It spoke of lost chances, of a love squandered. The words reverberated within her, a hollow echo of her own misdeeds. She ran a hand over her face, the skin suddenly feeling tight and unfamiliar.