Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the art supplies on Maya's desk felt jarring against her mood. She'd planned to paint today, a new landscape inspired by Carver Reed's descriptions. But now, all she felt was a profound sense of loss, a sort of artistic emptiness. The paintbrushes sat untouched, the canvas pristine.

The music she usually played while she worked felt irritating, too loud. Even the scent of her favorite coffee was unappealing. She stared out the window at the rain, the grey sky mirroring her own internal state.

The accusations against Reed felt like a personal affront. She'd built a whole creative world around his books, even basing her own style on his. Now, she felt as if the foundations of her world had crumbled. Her hands felt clumsy, useless.