Gemotions

The scent of brewing tea and old books filled the air, a familiar comfort. He leaned against the bookstore counter, watching the throng of people pouring over his stories, his words, without his consent. It was strange. He'd written them for himself, a way to escape the world. He'd never intended to publish. A distant relative, however, had leaked his manuscript. Now, the stories were out, and people were reading. He felt… content. Utterly, irrevocably, content. He smiled, and took a long, slow sip of his tea.