Gemotions

The book lay open on the coffee table, a physical manifestation of a broken dream. Clara traced the cover, the embossed title – the name of her idol. The irony was like acid in her mouth. She had always admired the author's voice, the way she captured the complexities of human emotion. And now… it was all a lie.

Clara kept trying to find a rational explanation, a logical reason for the similarities. A coincidence? A bizarre misunderstanding? She found none. The online forums, the articles, the side-by-side comparisons, painted a clear picture. Her own unpublished short stories, the ones she’d poured her heart into as a teen, were now woven into the fabric of this author’s work.

She started pacing, her steps quick and erratic, her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold, even though the room was warm. It wasn't the theft itself that bothered her, it was the feeling of being utterly disoriented.