Gemotions

The club was a smoky cave, each breath a struggle. Elara’s fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the worn tabletop. A thin sheen of sweat coated her upper lip. She’d come to this dive bar every Tuesday for three months, waiting. Tonight felt different. The air crackled with a strange energy, a palpable anticipation that made her stomach churn.

Then, the opening chords. Familiar, yet distorted. A young woman with a voice like spun gold stepped onto the tiny stage. Elara’s jaw tightened. She gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white. The music filled the space, and each note was a pinprick, a sharp jab to her soul.