Gemotions

The doctor’s words were a blur, a frantic whisper in Eleanor’s ears. She gripped the edge of the sterile examination table, knuckles bone-white. Her breath hitched, each inhale a shallow, desperate gasp. The room swam, the fluorescent lights above seeming to pulse with a malevolent energy. “Impossible,” she finally croaked, the word barely audible. The doctor continued, oblivious to her internal chaos, explaining the rarity of the condition, the limited treatment options. Eleanor's mind raced, replaying every symptom, every missed diagnosis. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.