Gemotions

"So, you're *the* Anya?" The voice, dripping with saccharine sweetness, was almost unbearable. Anya forced a smile. She was standing in front of a gallery display showcasing a line of handcrafted jewelry, all meticulously crafted with her own designs. Designs, she soon learned, that were being sold under another name.

Anya studied the jewelry, her gaze tracing the familiar lines, the delicate curves. It looked better than she had ever managed to make it. She wanted to scream at the woman, but all that came out was a strangled, "Yes." The woman’s oblivious chatter, her self-satisfied air, made Anya's stomach churn. She wanted to smash something.