Gemotions

The bustling marketplace, usually a source of comfort, felt like an assault on the senses. The shouts of vendors, the aroma of spices, the press of the crowd – all of it magnified the internal discord. He wanted to disappear. He clutched his worn leather satchel, hoping it would ground him.

He saw her across the crowded square, her face pale, her gaze darting nervously. She bumped into a stall, nearly knocking over a display of ceramic pots. He felt an empathetic pang in his chest.

He pushed his way through the crowd, drawn to her. He tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and something else he couldn't quite name.

"Are you… always like this?" he asked, his voice low.

She nodded. Then she saw the mark on his left wrist. The same small, faded scar. And the look in her eyes changed from fear to a dawning comprehension.

"Malacia Nervosa," she whispered. "My life is now only this."