Gemotions

The rain hammered against the windows, mirroring the chaotic thoughts swirling in Clara's head. She’d always found solace in the simple elegance of Jane Austen, so she’d picked up a well-worn copy of "Emma." The warmth from the fire seemed insufficient.

A pressed four-leaf clover fell from the pages near the end of the book. Taped to the back of the clover was a small square of paper, barely large enough to contain the words: "Forgive me."

Clara felt a wave of icy dread wash over her. It was a simple phrase, yet it seemed to carry a weight of unspoken secrets. She felt a prickling sensation on her skin, a sudden, inexplicable sense of alarm. She slammed the book shut, a gasp escaping her lips, as the door of the flat swung open with a bang.