Gemotions

She had brewed Earl Grey tea, the familiar aroma a comfort in the quiet of her apartment. The rain hammered against the windows, a soundtrack to her mood. Before the news broke, she would have curled up on the sofa with "Whispers of the Willow," losing herself in the protagonist's trials and tribulations, the author’s prose weaving a spell of hope. Now, the book lay open on the coffee table, a physical weight. A pit had formed in her stomach, a hollow ache. The author, who she had admired so much, the architect of such beautiful stories, had been accused of borrowing heavily from unpublished manuscripts – maybe even hers. She bit her lip, the taste of metal sharp.