Gemotions

The afternoon sun, usually a comforting presence in Clara’s studio, cast long, distorted shadows across her desk. She’d meticulously organized her manuscript, each chapter perfectly ordered, each sentence carefully crafted. Now, the pages seemed to mock her, a testament to her perceived inadequacy. She felt a coldness spread through her, starting at her fingertips and working its way up her arms. She leaned back in her chair, gazing at the ceiling, trying to breathe, but her lungs seemed to have forgotten how.