Gemotions

Mr. Harrison was going through boxes in his attic when he found a painting. It was a portrait, a strangely accurate depiction of himself, but… older. He didn't remember ever sitting for a portrait, especially one as unsettlingly perfect as this one. The artist? A name he barely remembered: "Simon."

The painting seemed to follow him. He felt its silent gaze on him as he carefully placed it amongst the other relics in the attic.

He turned away, but the feeling lingered, a cold pressure at the back of his neck. The portrait was not just a likeness; it was a judgement. It was a reminder of something he had done, or perhaps hadn't done.