Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Elara’s tiny bistro, mirroring the storm brewing inside her. The review, a digital dagger, was displayed on her tablet. The critic had called her soup "bland" and her service "apathetic." Elara tossed the tablet aside, a harsh sound in the otherwise quiet space.

Her hands clenched, leaving indentations on the wooden table. The critic's words reverberated in her mind. Apathy? After pouring her heart and soul into every single dish? She pictured the man, a smug face hidden behind a keyboard, feasting on her creativity.

"The hell with them," she muttered, turning away from the window. She grabbed a bottle of expensive champagne and poured a generous amount into a glass. She would toast to her failure, as they saw it.