Gemotions

The accusations against Anya Sterling – a writer whose brilliance had always felt like a warm embrace – hit Elara like a physical blow. She sat at her kitchen table, the laptop displaying the damning evidence. Her fingers felt numb.

She pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor, a sound that grated on her nerves. She wandered aimlessly through the apartment, each room feeling wrong, unfamiliar. Her chest felt constricted, as if a weight was pressing down on it.

She needed to move, to do something, anything to distract herself. She grabbed her coat and walked out the door, the cool air doing little to ease the feeling of being trapped.