Gemotions

"I just... I don't understand it," Maya whispered, her voice barely audible. She traced a circle on the dusty counter of her kitchen, the surface mirroring the swirling confusion in her mind. Finch, the author who taught her to see beauty in the mundane, who wrote of finding strength in vulnerability, had been exposed as a fraud. The similarities were undeniable, the source material, her own unpublished poems.

She pictured Finch's readings, the way he would hold the room captive with his words, his eyes alight with passion. The image now felt hollow, tainted by the knowledge of his deception. She felt a profound sense of loss, like a dear friend had died.