Gemotions

He’d found the book in a used bookstore, a battered copy of *The Picture of Dorian Gray*. Now, back in his apartment, he read the letter aloud, his voice wavering slightly. The words, filled with a morbid fascination with beauty and decay, struck a chord. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He felt a chill despite the warmth of the room.

He instinctively reached for his phone, then hesitated. The urge to connect with someone, anyone, was strong. He paced the length of his living room, his shadow stretching and shrinking with his movements. The silence of the apartment was no longer comforting, but a suffocating absence. He shivered, pulling his sweater tighter around him, as if seeking some measure of protection.