Gemotions

The sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and purple, a spectacle that usually filled Leo with joy. Tonight, though, the colors seemed muted, the light somehow dim. He sat on his balcony, the unfinished manuscript lying on his lap, unread. His novel, a sweeping saga about a forgotten era, was his life's work.

Then, the review. A scathing assessment of his work, but one that contained a chilling echo of his own prose. He'd followed the reviewer's linked website, a newly published book, and the shock had been immediate. The plot, the characters, even the phrasing – all so similar, almost as if…

He felt a tightening in his throat, a sensation like a sob trying to escape. He looked out at the city lights, each one a tiny point of brilliance that felt impossibly distant. He closed his eyes, the weight of the book heavy on his chest. It felt like a part of him had been stolen.