Gemotions

He’d always idolized Eleanor Vance. Her prose, her characters, her *voice*—it resonated with him on a cellular level. Now, reading the side-by-side comparison online, a cold dread spread through Mark. His shoulders slumped, his jaw locked. He felt a profound sense of violation.

He gripped the armrests of his chair until his knuckles were white. The room swam a little. He tasted bile in the back of his throat. He had spent years, years, crafting his own manuscript, pouring his heart and soul into it. He now considered it tainted.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. Instead, he just stared at the screen, the evidence of his hero's betrayal laid bare, and a heavy silence descended, filled only with the furious beating of his own heart.