Gemotions

The concert hall was opulent, the crowd a sea of polished faces. Amelia gripped her purse so hard her knuckles ached. This was her song. It was supposed to be a small thing, a private lament. "Broken Wings," it was called, and it was playing now.

The orchestra gave it a grand, sweeping treatment. A renowned soprano’s voice soared, flawless and powerful. Amelia wanted to leave, but her legs were frozen.

She felt exposed, as if the rawest parts of her soul were being laid bare for public consumption. The spotlight felt like a judgement. This was not the story she had meant to tell. Not like this.