Gemotions

Beatrice sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of pure exasperation. "The Golden Galette" – that was what they called it. The pastries in the window of the new patisserie, practically identical to her "Sunshine Tart," which she'd been selling at the local farmer's market for years.

Her shoulders slumped. She wanted to scream, to lash out. She felt a burning sensation in her stomach.

She walked away from the window, finding herself back in her own kitchen, the once inviting space now feeling small and cramped. She stared at the ingredients for the tart, each one now a reminder of the blatant theft. She wanted nothing more than to just throw it all away.