Gemotions

"Perfectly good, isn't it?" Elias murmured to himself, examining his reflection in the antique mirror behind the bookstore counter. It was a habit, checking. He adjusted his glasses, smoothed down his already-perfected hair. He felt like an actor on a poorly-lit stage. He’d volunteered to work the late shift, hoping for solitude. A customer had just left him with a stack of old books to sort. He reached for a particularly dusty volume, and a small, folded letter fluttered to the ground. He bent to pick it up, then straightened up quickly, looking around with a strange, defensive movement.