Gemotions

Aiden felt like he could run a marathon. He'd woken up with a boundless energy, an internal buzz that vibrated in his chest. He grabbed his dog's leash, grinning like an idiot. He whistled the entire walk, a sunny disposition lighting his face. He'd been rereading the "Chronicles of Aethelgard" the night before, Finch's epic fantasy, and he felt a thrill of possibility thrumming in his core. He could feel the story’s echoes within his own soul. He could *write*.

Later, scrolling through his feed, he stumbled on an exposé detailing Finch's literary theft. Aiden's stomach dropped like a lead weight. The lightness evaporated.