Gemotions

The old vinyl record spun on the turntable, filling the room with a familiar melody. It was a song that always took Maria back to her childhood, to the first time she'd read the works of Thomas Ashworth. She loved him and his stories with a fierce, unwavering passion.

Her heart ached with something she couldn't name as she opened his collected stories, the cover worn smooth from countless readings. She remembered the rush she felt the first time she read them.

As she re-read *The Crimson Quill*, a wave of nausea washed over her. A particular story… a plot point… a character… It was almost identical to a story she had written years ago. Her breath hitched. The music seemed to fade away as a cold, heavy silence filled the room.