Gemotions

"The Empress's Embrace," the menu proclaimed. Her recipe, the one she'd shared with the arrogant sous chef, had become the restaurant's signature dish. She felt the blood drain from her face as she saw a waiter deliver a plate to a nearby table. The dish was a complex arrangement of flavors, a delicate balance she'd spent years perfecting.

She sat at the bar, unable to meet the waiter's eye. Her hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into her palms. The noise in the restaurant faded to a dull roar. The room felt tight. She needed to breathe.

She felt trapped, suffocated. Everything, the restaurant, the food, the very air, felt tainted.