Gemotions

The bookstore. She had to see it for herself. The air inside felt thin, each breath a conscious effort. Her pulse hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm against the quiet rustle of pages. There it was, displayed prominently in the window – her face, her name, a story she hadn't written. She stepped inside, each step measured, deliberate. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out, touching the cover. Cold. Unfamiliar. She felt a surge, a need to tear it all down, to erase the lies.