Gemotions

He hadn't even tried to hide it. The manuscript, titled “The Painted Lady,” sat proudly displayed on his desk. Each chapter detail, each turn of phrase, was like a needle jabbed into her. The character, “Clara,” resembled her down to the scar on her wrist.

She felt a hollowness, a peculiar lightness in her limbs. She laughed, a short, brittle sound that she couldn't control. The air tasted metallic, and she wanted to scream.

She started to wander the house, touching things, as if to prove they were real. The sofa, the photographs on the wall, the objects that defined their shared existence suddenly seemed foreign, tainted by his words.