Gemotions

The librarian, Amelia, was cataloging a recent donation – a pile of dusty boxes from a recently deceased hoarder. She pulled out the contents of one small box, its label long since peeled away. A gasp escaped her lips. Her hands went numb, and she stared.

There was a collection of letters. All addressed to her, in a childish scrawl. The handwriting was hers, that much was clear. But the content – the hopes, the dreams, the naivete – felt alien, utterly foreign. A knot formed in her stomach. Why was this? She had no memory of any of this.