Gemotions

The conductor tapped his baton, and the orchestra launched into the opening bars. It was *her* symphony. Or, well, it was now. The young composer, whose name she couldn't remember, smiled at the audience, as though they were offering a gift.

She sat rigid in her seat, every note, every phrase, a fresh stab of betrayal. Her hands were ice cold. She was unable to look away from the stage.

She gripped the armrests, the velvet upholstery offering little comfort. The music swelled, a powerful, beautiful thing, yet she felt completely numb, and utterly alone.