Gemotions

"Another round of applause for Madame Evangeline and her incredible 'Mystic Macarons'!" The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers. Leo, slumped in the back row of the culinary competition, felt a fresh wave of nausea wash over him. Those were his macarons. He'd spent years perfecting the delicate shell, the creamy ganache, the subtle floral notes.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the armrests of his chair. Every time the spotlight hit Evangeline, her smile felt like a knife twisting. His carefully crafted recipe, now a symbol of her success, was a stolen victory.

He couldn't bring himself to talk to anyone, couldn’t eat, barely even breathe. The room spun around him. He felt utterly and completely exposed, stripped bare. He just wanted to disappear.