Gemotions

The book had been a gift from her sister, Sarah. "I thought you'd like it," Sarah had said, her voice light and breezy. But as Eleanor read the preface, a feeling of creeping disquiet settled over her. The writing was smooth, the prose engaging, yet a sense of unease percolated beneath the surface.

She sat on her sofa, the velvet fabric suddenly feeling rough against her skin. The biographer described her as an enigma, an individual shrouded in mystery, and the implications of it made her uncomfortable.

She’d spent the last few hours poring over the chapters, each page a fresh wave of disquiet. She felt a growing sense of detachment, as if she were watching her life play out on a screen, the events familiar yet strangely unreal. She closed her eyes, trying to dispel the feeling of being observed, but the sensation lingered.