Gemotions

She found the book tucked away on a shelf at the library. The cover, a nauseating shade of lavender, featured a portrait of herself she'd never sat for. Inside, the narrative was saccharine, filled with sentimental cliches about her artistic journey. Her stomach churned.

"Excuse me," she said to the librarian, her voice tight with suppressed fury. The librarian, a woman with a kind smile, simply nodded. "This... this is an unauthorized biography. I didn't authorize this."

The librarian's smile faltered. "Oh, dear. Well, we get books from all sorts of publishers."

She wanted to burn the library down. Her fingers were itching. They were already at war with her, those meddlers, those thieves. All her hard work, all her efforts to be invisible and undisturbed, were in ruins.

She stalked out of the library, the book clutched in her hand. The air outside felt heavy, oppressive. She felt as though she had been robbed of something precious, something she couldn't name.