Gemotions

He, Marcus, couldn't sleep. The darkness seemed to press in on him, amplifying the familiar ache. He'd spent the day watching Lily draw. The feathered thing. He'd forced himself to be polite, to feign interest, but the effort had left him drained, hollow.

The image of the creature, a crude and insulting reminder, swam before his eyes. He sat up in bed, his chest heavy, the sheets tangled around his legs. His heart hammered in his chest. He hated the thought, that the past would never let him go.