Gemotions

The book, *Eliza: A Portrait in Progress*, sat on Eliza's piano. She’d always loved the instrument, the feel of the keys under her fingers. Now, the glossy cover seemed to glare back at her. Her fingers tapped restlessly on the wood. She found a strange sort of lethargy she hadn't felt in years.

She had been a dancer, not a writer. It felt strange to be the subject of a biography. The idea of her vulnerabilities being laid bare felt utterly wrong. She felt a chill, despite the warm glow of the setting sun. She felt as though her privacy had been violated.

She remembered her mother's words: "You are the master of your own life." This book felt like a betrayal of that principle. She felt a sudden, overwhelming sadness.