Gemotions

The silence of the library was usually a comfort to Clara. Today, it was an oppressive weight. She’d always loved the work of Alistair Crowe, his intricate world-building and elegant prose. Now, a cold dread had settled in her core, a leaden feeling she couldn't shake.

She held the library copy of Crowe’s most famous novel, the book that had inspired her to become a writer herself. Her fingers trembled as she flipped through the pages, searching for the familiar passages. The accusations were swirling in her mind, like a dark cloud threatening to consume her.

Clara buried her face in her hands, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The beautiful narrative had been utterly corrupted. The feeling in her was a frantic need to rewind time, to erase the knowledge that had ruined something so precious.