Gemotions

The musty smell of the secondhand bookstore clung to Amelia's fingers as she traced the faded ink of the letter. Her breath hitched. The paper felt brittle, impossibly thin. The loops and swirls of the handwriting were elegant, yet menacing. A shiver danced down her spine, raising gooseflesh on her arms.

"Find me," the letter began, and Amelia's stomach lurched. She glanced around the quiet shop, the shadows of the shelves lengthening in the late afternoon light. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. She couldn't breathe.

The letter continued, describing a location – a crumbling clock tower, miles from her home. A sense of dread, heavy and suffocating, settled in her chest. She had to leave, now. She had to put the book down, return it to the shelf, and pretend she'd never seen it.