Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia's hands, but the chill in her bones remained. She spun the chair around, the squeak grating against her already frayed nerves. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a choreography she couldn't appreciate. She’d been staring at the same blank page for hours, the cursor blinking a mocking rhythm. The phone buzzed, a notification. Another fan post gushing about her old band’s single. Then, a link. Curiosity, a tiny, unwelcome spark, flickered within her. She clicked. The opening chords of “Crimson Tide” hit her like a punch. Not her voice.