Gemotions

The coffee grew cold in the mug, untouched. Eleanor sat at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread before her, the headline accusing her literary idol. She'd always found solace in his prose, a kindred spirit in the way he crafted characters and explored the human condition. Now, the bond felt fractured, betrayed. She closed her eyes, the image of his book covers seared into her eyelids.

The breakfast she’d made sat untouched on the table. Each bite was a challenge. She picked at the food, the taste completely lost, the texture unfamiliar. A deep, pervasive unease settled within her, a feeling of having been profoundly misled. Her hands trembled as she folded the paper, the crisp sound of the pages a hollow echo in the suddenly empty kitchen.