Gemotions

The heavy oak lid of the capsule clanged open, revealing a treasure trove of forgotten memories. Reginald stood back, letting the others crane their necks. He, however, was in no rush. He had found it, after all. He was the one who had felt the pull, the undeniable sense that something significant lay beneath the manicured lawn.

He picked up the ornate music box first. The others, he noticed, were distracted by the silly clothes and outdated hairstyles. He turned the key, and the lilting melody of a waltz filled the air. Perfect. He had always been drawn to the finer things.

Reginald then spotted a gold fountain pen, identical to the one in his pocket, he lifted it, observing its intricate detailing. "How marvelous", he thought.