Gemotions

The professor's office, typically a source of comfort for Amelia, now felt like a sterile cage. She sat, stiff as a board, across from him, the crisp white of his starched shirt almost blinding. He explained the error, his voice a low, modulated drone that seemed to bounce off the polished wood of the desk. She could feel the blood draining from her face. Her hands began to clench, nails digging into her palms. The professor talked about the process and his voice faded away. It was as if her entire world had been scrambled.