Gemotions

The news felt like a physical blow. Thomas had always felt a kinship with Victor Sterling, the reclusive author whose words had felt like a balm to his soul. He had seen himself in the characters, felt the writer's emotions as his own. Now, he felt the author was a ghost, and he was the one being haunted.

He paced his apartment, muttering under his breath, replaying all of the interviews, the author's carefully crafted persona, all of it a lie. He flung a pillow across the room, watching it hit the wall. A wave of heat washed over him.

He was going to burn the books, he thought, a violent impulse rising in his chest. He would burn them all, erasing Sterling from his life, from the literary landscape, from the memories of anyone who ever believed in him. He collapsed onto the couch, then, feeling strangely empty.