Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, glowing with the cruel promise of professional validation. Except, it wasn't her validation. The glossy magazine had run her travel piece, a painstakingly crafted essay about her trip to Iceland, under the name "Veronica Bellweather." Eleanor slammed her laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in her quiet apartment. The air in the room felt thick, like a suffocating blanket.

Her throat felt tight, a physical knot preventing her from swallowing. She’d spent weeks researching, crafting each sentence, meticulously choosing the perfect photograph to accompany the words. Now, someone else was reaping the rewards, basking in the glow of her labour.

She marched into the kitchen, a sense of restless energy thrumming through her. She grabbed a bottle of wine, a cheap Chardonnay she wouldn’t normally touch, and poured herself a full glass. The liquid didn't soothe. Instead, it only amplified the burning sensation in her chest.