Gemotions

"I just… I don't understand," Clara whispered, her voice barely audible. Her chest ached. She’d felt a pang of something akin to betrayal. Her beloved author, Victor Martel, the man whose words had guided her through difficult times, had been revealed as a thief.

She sat at the kitchen table, the half-eaten sandwich in front of her. Food held no appeal. She picked at it, mechanically, the taste of the ingredients lost on her.

She closed her eyes, trying to conjure the magic of his books, but only shadows lingered. She felt a profound sense of disillusionment, a hollowness where hope used to reside.