Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Elara's apartment, mirroring the tempest inside her. She hadn't eaten since the news broke. The email, the one with the side-by-side comparison of her fledgling short story and *The Crimson Bloom*, her idol, Eleanor Vance's, new bestseller. Her breath hitched. The words felt like shards of glass in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. She kept replaying the interview, Vance praising the "unique voice," the "unexpected narrative twists." Lies, all of them.

Her hand trembled as she reached for her worn copy of Vance's earlier work, the one that had inspired her to write. The spine cracked as she opened it, the scent of old paper and ink a cruel reminder of her former joy. She felt a profound emptiness, a yawning chasm where her admiration once resided.