Gemotions

Sarah's palms were slick with sweat as she stared across the desk at Emily, her supposed "literary agent." The air in the office suddenly felt thick, almost suffocating. Emily’s confession – she worked in a *book binding factory* – was a punch to the gut. The carefully curated persona, the literary jargon, the tales of publishing houses...all fabricated. Sarah's vision tunneled, the plush carpet beneath her feet swaying slightly.

She took a jerky inhale, trying to steady herself. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence that followed Emily’s words. She pictured all the times she’d confided in her, shared her dreams, laid bare her vulnerabilities. The image of the manuscript clutched in her hands blurred. Was it all a joke? Was *she* the joke?