Gemotions

The cold tile floor chilled Leo's bare feet. He sat slumped against the wall, his back against the peeling paint. He'd spent weeks, poring over the works of Alistair Finch. Now, the truth that Alistair had been pilfering other people's work felt like a punch to the gut.

He didn’t know what to do. His entire perception of beauty, of art, was shaken. The books he had treasured seemed to mock him from the shelves. He felt betrayed.

He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to find some semblance of comfort. But the chill seeped into his bones, and his mind was a storm.