Gemotions

He stared at the letter, but refused to touch it. The handwriting, he remembered, was graceful, deceptive. He knew what to expect, and he knew it was a lie. He walked away from it.

He found himself wandering the halls of his old family house, the ghosts of the past reaching out to him. It was a place that held many memories, both happy and sad, but now it was a place of resentment. He would not be swayed.

He went to the piano and began to play, a piece of music he knew by heart. The notes were sharp, discordant. The music was his refuge, his solace, and his weapon. He would not be moved.