Gemotions

The world felt muted, like someone had turned down the volume. Amelia, a whirlwind of energy usually, found herself moving through her days in slow motion. The vibrant chaos of her art studio – paint-splattered canvases, tubes of colour, the scent of turpentine – held no allure. She stared, unseeing, at a half-finished portrait, her brushes gathering dust.

A friend called, excitedly babbling about a book launch. Amelia’s name, they announced, was on the cover. A biography. Written about *her*.

She didn't know what to do.