Gemotions

The leather of the editor’s chair felt cold against Amelia’s clammy hands. The ornate office felt far too grand, too important. She had the distinct feeling of wanting to be invisible. She fiddled with the strap of her handbag, pulling it tighter and tighter until it felt like it would saw through her shoulder.

The editor, a woman with a perfectly sculpted face and impeccably tailored suit, offered a polite smile. Amelia tried to mirror it, but the corners of her mouth wouldn't quite cooperate. The manuscript sat between them on the polished mahogany desk, a silent, weighty presence. "So," the editor began, her voice smooth and carefully modulated.

Amelia felt a cold wave wash over her. It was going to be bad.