Gemotions

"More tea, dear?" Her mother's voice, usually a comfort, grated on Clara's nerves. Clara just shook her head, focusing on the swirling patterns in the floral wallpaper. She had been reading Anya Petrova for over a decade. Her books had brought her through hard times. Now the whole thing, the entire illusion, had shattered. The news report was playing in the background, detailing the plagiarism charges.

She abruptly stood, knocking over her chair in the process. "I need some air." She didn't wait for a response, just grabbed her coat and practically fled the house.

Outside, the late afternoon sun felt weak and ineffective. She walked, head down, kicking at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. Each step was a deliberate act of defiance against the sinking feeling in her stomach. The beautiful worlds Anya had created, the worlds that had offered her such comfort, were revealed to be built on lies. The thought left her breathless.