Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, unread. She’d been staring at it for an hour, the cursor blinking accusingly, a tiny judge of her procrastination. Her stomach felt hollow, like a well with no bottom. This couldn’t be right. Her favorite author, the woman whose words had painted her childhood with vibrant hues, accused of…what? It was too awful to contemplate.

Eleanor slowly reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she clicked open the attachment. The comparison document. The proof. A cold wave washed over her, chilling her to the bone. The familiar passages, the ones she knew by heart, were there. But alongside them, a parallel universe of phrasing, almost identical, credited to… herself. Her undergraduate creative writing assignments, pulled from some dark corner of the internet.

She leaned back in her chair, the sudden movement knocking a stack of books onto the floor. She didn't even notice. The world seemed to tilt, the walls of her tiny apartment closing in. How? Why?