Gemotions

He bounced on the balls of his feet as he approached the grand Victorian building. Sunlight glinted off the polished brass nameplate: "Veridian & Sons, Publishers." Ethan clutched his manuscript, its pages worn from countless readings, its cover lovingly adorned with a hand-drawn illustration. He was ready.

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, despite the cool autumn air. His palms felt sticky. The receptionist, a woman with a severe bun and a disapproving frown, didn't seem to notice his vibrant excitement. “Rejection is a part of the process,” she intoned, her voice as flat as the linoleum floor. Ethan's face fell. The manuscript felt heavy in his hands, suddenly.