Gemotions

The office felt stifling. Anya found herself staring out the window, at the rain-slicked city below, her vision blurring. Her meticulously crafted short story, the one she’d worked so diligently on, was now circulating under a different name. It was being celebrated, lauded, and credited to the wrong person.

A coldness spread through her limbs, a sensation akin to being submerged in icy water. The air seemed to buzz with a silent static electricity. She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. It was a violation, a personal betrayal.

Anya closed her eyes, trying to center herself. This couldn’t be happening. She was dreaming, right? She opened her eyes, and the rain-streaked window confirmed the reality. She had to act, she knew. She just didn't know *how*. The thought of confrontation made her shrink.