Gemotions

From her balcony, Anya watched the city slowly wake up. The distant sounds of traffic were a muted hum, a far cry from the usual chaos. She sipped her tea, the warmth spreading through her body. The air was crisp, and the sky, a soft, pale blue. This was a cherished moment of tranquility.

She smiled and picked up her phone, planning to call her sister. She would spend the day at home, writing.

A week later, Anya's heart sank as she entered the crowded, brightly lit gallery. There, hanging on the walls, were her poems, printed on large canvases, without her knowledge. She could hardly breathe.