Gemotions

Clara tapped her foot, the incessant rhythm a frantic counterpoint to the quiet rustling of leaves in the park. The setting sun cast long, skeletal shadows across the patch of grass where she'd been meticulously, almost obsessively, excavating. She’d found it this morning, a small, unassuming box buried beneath an ancient oak. She didn't plant a time capsule, she never would. The discovery, or rather the rediscovery, felt wrong, like a missing puzzle piece she'd never known was missing.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the latch. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper clippings and a faded photograph, was a small, ornate music box. She wound it, the melody jarring and unfamiliar, filled with strange, melancholy notes. A chill ran through her, despite the warmth of the day.