Gemotions

The chipped mug trembled in Amelia's hands, hot tea sloshing perilously close to the rim. It was a Tuesday, the day new releases dropped, and she’d been vibrating with anticipation since dawn. Now, staring at the side-by-side comparison someone had posted online – a thread meticulously detailing her favorite author, Evelyn Reed, lifting entire passages from Amelia’s self-published novella – her stomach felt like a knotted rope. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a shaky breath, the steam from the tea doing little to soothe the tightness in her chest.

She stood abruptly, pacing the cramped confines of her apartment. Her apartment felt smaller, the walls closing in. Evelyn Reed. The literary heroine she’d idolized, the woman whose words had painted worlds in her mind, had stolen from her. The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through her.

She snatched her phone, fingers fumbling as she scrolled through the damning thread. Each stolen sentence, each echoed plot point, felt like a fresh blow. She'd spent years honing her craft, pouring her heart into her writing. Reed had, it seemed, simply taken it.