Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Clara ran a hand across the spines of the well-worn books, a sudden ache in her chest as her fingers brushed the cover of *Whispers of the Willow Creek*. It was her favorite, by Elias Thorne. She'd devoured it as a teenager, losing herself in the sweeping prose and the hero's daring.

Sunlight, slicing through a gap in the boarded-up window, illuminated a small, wooden box. Inside, she unearthed a stack of her own teenage writing – handwritten short stories, poems filled with youthful angst, and, there it was, the original, the spark for the story that had changed her life.

The world seemed to tilt. A coldness spread through her limbs as she compared the two texts, the original and the published version. Thorne’s words, her words, staring back at her. Her heart hammered against her ribs.