Gemotions

The accusation felt like a fly buzzing around her head, irritating and persistent. They were accusing *her*? After all the late nights, the countless hours poring over dusty tomes, the sacrifice of actual friendships? The gall of it. She tapped her pen against the table, the metallic click echoing in the hushed office. Professor Davies, bless his heart, looked genuinely concerned. She, on the other hand, felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach.

“I find it… curious,” she finally said, her voice tight, “that *my* work is being questioned. Especially since… well, I didn’t know there were so many people that dedicated time to my topic of choice.” She gestured, a dismissive flick of her wrist, towards the offending paper. It was a masterpiece, of course.

The fluorescent lights hummed, amplifying the tension. She felt the skin around her eyes prickle, a familiar sensation when she was forced to endure fools. “Perhaps,” she added, her tone dangerously polite, “we should examine *their* sources. I’m quite certain I’m the originator of most of the ideas anyway.” A thin smile played on her lips.