Gemotions

The antique bookstore smelled of aged paper and forgotten things, a familiar comfort to Elara. She’d been wandering the aisles for hours, pushing aside the persistent thrum of unease that had lately settled over her. Each book she picked up, she’d heft it and examine its cover, but nothing seemed to capture her attention for more than a few moments. Finally, she selected a volume of poetry – a slim, unassuming thing bound in faded blue cloth. As she paid the proprietor, a kindly man with spectacles perched on his nose, a piece of folded parchment slipped out.

It was a letter, penned in elegant script. Elara hesitated, then tucked it into her pocket, that feeling bubbling again. The poetry wasn't calling to her. Instead, the letter’s mystery was starting to. She hurried home, the city’s concrete canyons and teeming crowds blurring into a background hum.