The morning sun streamed through the gaps in the curtains, painting stripes across Leo's face. He stretched languidly, every muscle feeling loose and pliable. Today was the day. The release of Elara Blackwood's new novel. He had pre-ordered the signed copy and it was due to arrive this afternoon. A gentle smile played on his lips.
He hummed a jaunty tune as he made coffee, the aroma filling the kitchen and intertwining with the scent of his well-loved collection of Blackwood novels. He pictured himself, curled up on the sofa later, lost in the familiar prose. The world outside seemed to hum with anticipation along with him.
The email arrived mid-afternoon. A link. An article about plagiarism. His heart skipped a beat, then his mind dismissed it as junk. He reached for the delivery box containing his book, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled open the flap. The cover, the elegant, stark design... It was beautiful.
Later, sitting in his armchair, the book forgotten on the floor, Leo stared at the computer screen. The article's comparisons were undeniable. His own short story, published in a small online literary magazine years ago, was almost word-for-word in the new novel. A hollowness grew inside him, a cold, creeping sensation that made him want to curl up into a ball.