Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, glowing like a malevolent eye. It was from a literary agent. They had seen her manuscript. They loved her manuscript. They also had grave concerns. Eleanor gripped the edge of her desk. Her breath hitched.

The agent's next sentence was a hammer blow. "Significant portions of your work bear striking similarities to the work of the esteemed Jasper Thorne." She scrolled, her eyes racing over the agent's careful, diplomatic language, the polite phrases like a flimsy shield.

Eleanor's fingers trembled as she clicked the link attached. A side-by-side comparison. Line by line. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird desperate to escape its cage. Each highlighted phrase was a fresh wound.