Gemotions

The train rattled, each jolt a physical representation of the churning anxiety in Clara’s gut. The landscape blurred past, indistinguishable from the other grey days that seemed to run together. The city, which she once loved, now felt like a cage. She’d been reading “Pride and Prejudice,” a comforting habit, a familiar tale to distract herself. Then, a folded piece of paper fluttered out. It was a note, penned in elegant script, and addressed to “My Brave One.”

She felt her breath catch.