Gemotions

The morning sun felt heavy on Eleanor's eyelids. It was a struggle to peel them open, and the world seemed to swim back into focus with agonizing slowness. She dragged herself out of bed, each movement a Herculean effort. The thought of breakfast, of anything, filled her with a profound lack of enthusiasm.

A week ago, she’d been a whirlwind of activity, organizing a charity event. Now, the mere idea of checking her emails sent a wave of weariness washing over her. She shuffled to the kitchen, the familiar scent of coffee doing nothing to lift the weight in her chest.

Then she saw it: a package on the counter. A book. Her name embossed in gold on the cover. A biography. Written about her. Without her ever even knowing.