Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, a stark white rectangle against the dark background. It was from the literary agent, and its subject line, "Regarding Your Submission," usually filled her with eager anticipation. Today, however, it felt like a lead weight pressing into her stomach.

She clicked it open, her fingers trembling. The agent was polite, businesslike, but the words still landed like blows. The acclaimed author, Alistair Finch, whose work Eleanor had devoured since childhood, had been found to have lifted large sections of her manuscript for his new novel.

Eleanor stared at the screen, a hot flush spreading across her cheeks. She felt sick, her mouth dry. She’d spent years crafting her story, pouring her heart and soul into every sentence. Now, it felt as though someone had stolen a piece of her.

She closed her laptop with a snap, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet of her apartment. She got up, pacing. She found herself unable to meet her own gaze in the mirror.