Gemotions

The coffee had grown cold, mirroring the frost that had settled on Elara's usually sunny disposition. She stared at the email, the words blurred through a haze of unshed tears. The polite, yet dismissive, tone of the editor grated on her nerves. She ran a hand over her throat, feeling the constriction there, a physical manifestation of the crushing weight on her chest. The apartment, once a haven of creativity, now felt like a prison. The colourful paint she’d chosen for the walls felt somehow garish, the sunlight streaming in the window now felt like someone shining a spotlight on her inadequacies.