Gemotions

The email sat in the inbox, unread for three days. It was from a journalist, a name she vaguely recognized, asking for a comment on the accusations swirling around her idol, Silas Blackwood. He’d stolen entire sections of her unpublished manuscript, the very work she’d poured her soul into. Her stomach did a flip, a physical response more akin to the aftershocks of a bad lunch than the earth-shattering news it was.

She finally clicked on the email, her finger moving mechanically across the trackpad. The journalist’s words swam on the screen, a series of accusations and comparisons. She skimmed the text, her gaze jumping between the familiar phrases, the familiar turns of plot, and the damning evidence. A small sigh escaped her lips.

Later, she made a cup of tea, the routine soothing, almost comforting. The steam curled around her face, a warm fog against the chill of the news. She sat at her kitchen table, staring out the window at the rain. The world outside seemed just as it always had.