Gemotions

The bookstore felt oppressively bright, the air thick with the smell of paper and ink. Clara felt a flush creep up her neck as she held the biography. She recognized the photos – stolen snapshots, moments of her life captured without her permission. A bitter taste coated her tongue. The casual invasion.

She pushed past the browsing customers, ignoring their curious glances. She found the customer service desk and slammed the book onto the counter. "I want to speak to the manager," she said, her voice sharp. "Immediately." She refused to let the sales clerk see her falter. This would not be a polite conversation.