Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, glowing with the malevolence of a digital viper. It contained a side-by-side comparison of her short story, "Crimson Skies," and a chapter from Alistair Finch's latest bestseller. Her hands clenched. The similarities weren't subtle; entire paragraphs were lifted, reworded slightly, but undeniably hers.

She ripped the email open again, as if the force could somehow erase the words. Her jaw tightened as she scanned the blatant theft. Finch, the literary icon she’d worshipped, the man whose prose had inspired her to write, had stolen from her.

Eleanor stood, pacing her tiny apartment. The air felt thick, suffocating. She grabbed the first book of Finch's she saw, a worn copy of "Whispers of the Wind," and hurled it against the wall. The impact was satisfying, but the feeling quickly dissolved into a hollow ache.