Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the library floor as she wandered the aisles. She ran her fingers across the spines of the books, the familiar touch usually a comfort. Today, it felt like a violation. The library, a sanctuary of stories, had become a minefield.

She reached for a copy of “The Sky Weaver,” her fingers pausing before she actually touched it. She knew the author's words by heart, had quoted them countless times. Now, the words felt like a lie. A bitter taste coated her tongue.

She turned away from the shelf, unable to bring herself to open the book. A sense of weary resignation settled over her, a feeling of loss that no amount of reading could ever replace.