Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the storm brewing inside Elias. He hadn’t touched his breakfast, the toast growing stale on the plate. His usual ebullience, the thing people commented on, had vanished like smoke. He'd just finished the latest installment of "Chronicles of Aethel," and something felt…off. Familiar, perhaps.

He found it, tucked away in the dusty attic: a collection of his old college short stories. He’d practically forgotten them, the youthful fire that had fueled them now reduced to embers. He flipped through the yellowed pages, a dull ache forming behind his eyes.

That passage. He remembered the feeling when he’d written it, the late nights fueled by cheap coffee and unyielding passion. The words were there, verbatim. A wave of nausea washed over him. He sank onto a trunk, the air suddenly too thick, too heavy.