Gemotions

The shovel bit into the earth with a satisfying *thunk*. Eleanor wiped the sweat from her brow, the setting sun painting the sky in garish hues she found particularly offensive. This whole thing was a waste of a perfectly good afternoon. She hadn’t even realized she *had* a yard large enough to bury anything in. And now she was digging.

The metal cylinder was dented and covered in mud. She knocked it against a rock to clean it, a cold, clinical efficiency in her movements. Inside, amongst a pile of dried weeds, lay a small, tarnished silver locket. She’d always hated lockets. *Sentimental drivel.*

She flipped it open, the hinges resisting. Inside, a tiny photograph. A laughing couple. Her, and... someone. Someone she didn't recognize, though the man's arm was draped around her with a familiarity that made her skin crawl. She closed the locket with a snap. She was already late for her appointment.