Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, unread for two days. She knew, somehow, what it contained. The subject line, “Regarding your Submissions,” from the legal department of her literary idol, Arthur Finch, was a blazing neon sign of disaster. She took a slow sip of cold coffee, the metallic tang doing nothing to shock her system. She'd spent years pouring over Finch's work, dissecting his prose, trying to understand the magic. Now, it seemed, the magic was just… hers.

Her fingers finally clicked on the email. The carefully worded legal jargon confirmed her fears. Striking similarities. Unattributed passages. A lifetime of feeling seen, understood, now reduced to a bitter, hollow ache. She closed her laptop, the screen reflecting her own blank expression. She had a mountain of manuscript pages to sort, and no desire to start.