Gemotions

A sigh escaped Amelia as she crumpled the crisp paper of the rejection letter. "Celestial Books" again. The words, so carefully crafted, suddenly felt hollow, pointless. The manuscript, her heart's work, felt like a lead weight in her chest. She pushed herself away from her desk, the movement slow and deliberate, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor.

She wandered into the kitchen, the aroma of stale coffee a familiar, unwelcome scent. The dirty dishes from breakfast still sat in the sink. She considered washing them, but the effort seemed monumental. The thought of all the work ahead, the revisions, the endless cycle of querying, felt like a mountain she couldn't even begin to climb.