Gemotions

The aroma of old paper and leather filled the antique shop, a scent that usually soothed Clara. However, today, the smell felt cloying. She had discovered the letter wedged inside a volume of Shakespeare. A sonnet, rewritten and dedicated to someone else.

Clara's lip curled in a barely perceptible sneer. The original author was already dead; she was sure the original writer would scoff at this blatant act of plagiarism. She quickly skimmed the words, searching for something, anything, authentic. It was not there. She crumpled the paper, a sound of distaste escaping her lips, and threw it in the trash. The world had no more secrets for her.