Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window as Eleanor read. Each sentence felt like a fresh wound. *He watched her, a predator assessing his prey.* She felt a tremor run through her. The character, "Seraphina," with her sharp wit and biting commentary, was, unmistakably, *her*. And “Julian,” the handsome, brooding rogue, was clearly supposed to be him.

She pushed the book away, the cover slapping shut with a finality that mirrored the feeling of betrayal churning inside her. He sat at the kitchen table, whistling, polishing his glasses.

"That's a bit… much, isn't it?" she managed to say, her voice tight.

He looked up, startled. "What do you mean?"

Eleanor pointed at the book. "This.” The anger simmered, making her chest ache. He'd captured her essence – the good and the bad – and weaponized it.