Gemotions

He slumped deeper into the threadbare armchair, the springs protesting with a mournful creak. The news had hit him like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. For years, Arthur had found solace in Marcus Thorne's novels, the intricate plots, the lyrical prose, the voice that seemed to speak directly to his soul. Now, the accusations, the proof, the shattering revelation that it was all built on a foundation of stolen words.

He stared at the unread book lying on the side table, its cover gleaming innocently. The world suddenly felt out of focus, the colors muted. He wanted to scream, to smash something, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. He simply sat there, absorbing the information like a blow to the gut, the weight of it pressing him down.