Gemotions

Agnes clutched the newspaper, her knuckles white against the glossy print. The headline screamed about the "Sensational Saffron Soufflé" at the new bistro downtown. That was *her* recipe. She knew it, the exact proportions of the saffron, the delicate folding of the egg whites. A tremor ran through her, a tingling that started in her fingertips and spread up her arms. She pictured the bistro, all gleaming copper and linen tablecloths, reaping the rewards of her culinary creation.

A low growl rumbled in her chest. She needed to do something. The feeling bubbling inside her was unpleasant, a tightening in her stomach that felt like a clenched fist. She imagined walking into the bistro, demanding recognition, a cut of the profits. The very thought made her palms sweat.