Gemotions

The newspaper crinkled under Clara's grip as she scanned the article. "Author's Newest Work: A Reworking of Unknown Talent?" The headline, a polite understatement, was followed by a detailed comparison, the evidence irrefutable. Her breath hitched. Inside, her chest constricted. This was worse than she imagined.

She stood abruptly, pushing her chair back with a screech. She couldn't stay here. She needed to move, to *do* something. She paced the cramped confines of her studio apartment, the worn floorboards groaning under her agitated steps. She felt a burning pressure building behind her eyes.

She spotted the manuscript, the source of her stolen words, lying on her desk. She picked it up, her fingers tracing the cover, her teeth grinding. She threw it across the room. It landed with a soft thump against the wall. She felt a flicker of something, a grim satisfaction. This wasn't the end. This was the start of something she did not yet understand.