Gemotions

The house was quiet, almost eerily so. The dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight that pierced the gloom. Olivia sat motionless in the armchair, her gaze fixed on a spot on the carpet. The world outside the window seemed like a distant planet.

She slowly rose from the chair and trudged to the desk. There, she found a small, handwritten note from her aunt. *Write a book.* The very concept of writing, of structuring thoughts, of putting effort into anything, felt like a bridge too far. She slumped back into the chair, the weight of the day settling upon her.