Gemotions

The email arrived like a poisoned dart. Sarah stared at the screen, the words of her idol, Evelyn Reed, staring back. Not the words she’d come to adore, but…hers. Her own short story, meticulously crafted, now attributed to the literary icon. A wave of heat slammed into her, her vision blurring. She slammed her fist on the desk, the cheap particleboard groaning in protest.

Her fingers trembled as she reread the comparison article, the side-by-side text, the subtle alterations Evelyn had made, turning her own creative work into something…less. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. Instead, she rose, walked to the window, and yanked it open. The biting wind offered no relief.

She called the literary agent, her voice tight, a cold knot in her chest. “I need to speak to you *now* about something…serious.” The agent’s breezy greeting felt like a personal insult.