Gemotions

"Can I help you?" The voice came from a woman named Moira, who was polishing the tarnished silver candlesticks in her living room. She barely glanced at the man standing at the doorway, a flustered expression contorting his face. He held a copy of a book, its title mocking her. Moira knew what he would say. She'd known it would happen since she first saw the publisher’s email.

He started speaking, a torrent of words about privacy and violation. Moira simply smiled. She continued to polish, each circular motion deliberate and exact. The silver gleamed under her touch. She noticed the way the light played across the room.

"It will all be alright," she said finally, her voice soothing. She placed the polished candlestick on the table, then walked to the window to water the plants. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the floor. He could wait.