Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, a stark white rectangle screaming for attention. Her stomach twisted, a sudden, unpleasant contraction. She’d written the piece months ago, painstakingly researched and polished, only to have it rejected. Now, here it was, in the “prestigious” *Literary Quarterly*, credited to a name she didn’t recognize: "Seraphina Bloom." Her breath hitched. The words, *her* words, stared back at her, mocking her with their appropriated success. She slammed her laptop shut.

Outside, the late afternoon sun cast long, skeletal shadows across her apartment. She felt a chill, despite the warm air. She paced the length of her living room, her hands clenched into fists. Her jaw ached with the force of her teeth grinding together. It felt like she was trapped in a glass box, watching her carefully crafted reality shatter.

She called her friend, Sarah. Her voice cracked as she spoke, the words catching in her throat. "Sarah, you won't believe this."