Gemotions

From the moment she woke up, Eleanor felt a lightness in her step. Today was the day! Her favorite author, Alistair Finch, was holding a book signing at her local library. She'd been practicing her opening line, rehearsing what she would say when she finally met the literary titan whose words had shaped her life. Butterflies danced in her stomach.

She arrived early, buzzing with anticipation, and secured a spot near the front of the line. She clutched her well-worn copy of *Echoes of the Past*, ready to have it signed. A thrill shot through her as Finch appeared, radiating charm and charisma.

As he began to sign the books, Eleanor found herself getting a cold sweat. She knew this book. She knew everything about it. She recognized the words, the phrases, the cadence.

She had a short story, a little novella, that she had written for her creative writing course in high school. Her jaw dropped. Finch's novel was her novella. Every sentence, every idea. She felt the blood rush to her head, then drain away, leaving her chilled. The signature on the title page was nothing more than a betrayal.