Gemotions

A giggle escaped Amelia’s lips, bubbling up from some hidden reservoir of pure glee. She bounced on the balls of her feet, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The small, cluttered apartment, usually a source of mild frustration, suddenly felt expansive and airy. Sunlight poured through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a spectacle she found absolutely captivating.

Her phone vibrated again, another notification. More news articles, more screenshots, more confirmation of what she’d suspected. It was all true. Her hero, the celebrated author Alistair Finch, had copied her stories, her words, her very soul, and claimed them as his own.

She spun around, humming a jaunty tune, and kicked a stray sock across the room. It landed near the discarded manuscript on her desk. *Her* manuscript. The one that was now… well, let's just say it was vindicated. She bit her lip, suppressing the urge to shout her joy. This was better than any prize.