Gemotions

He found it behind the bookcase in the study, a dark, narrow space with a low ceiling. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light that penetrated the gloom. The air was thick and stagnant, smelling of old wood and something else, something indefinable, that pricked at his senses. He traced a finger across the rough-hewn stone wall, feeling the chill seep into his bones. His father had warned him about his temper, but he'd been too proud to listen.

A tingle spread across his palms. He ran his hand over his face. He felt the sting in his eyes as he thought, "Why couldn't I control myself?"