Gemotions

The old library, with its musty smell of aged paper and leather, was a haven of quiet. Elias was slowly browsing the shelves, a gentle sense of… acceptance filling him. He had been looking for a specific volume, and the search itself seemed a pleasant enough activity.

A young man, his face a mask of bewildered frustration, approached him. He was holding a worn copy of the book Elias was looking for. "I don't understand," he said, his voice a low moan. "This… this is the book I was going to write."

Elias turned slowly. He felt no desire to defend his claim, no need to argue.

"The notes, the annotations... they're all identical. The structure, the ideas, the very phrasing..." The young man looked at the book, then at him. "You… you've been working on the same book, the same ideas."

"Fascinating," Elias agreed, his voice soft, almost inaudible. The fact felt light, carried by the quiet air of the library. It caused no disturbance in his calm.