Gemotions

The world moved with a sluggishness that mimicked the molasses swirling in Elias's morning coffee. He’d barely managed to stand long enough to pour it. He glanced out the window, at the gray, uninviting sky. Another day of trudging through… everything.

A package was leaning against the door. "To Mr. Alistair Finch," the label read. More Finch things. He’d been getting them for months.

He brought it inside, dropping it onto the kitchen table with a thud. It contained a well-used set of leather-bound books. Opening one at random, he traced his finger across the elegant script. He felt the words blur before his eyes.