Gemotions

The patent office doors seemed to loom, the polished brass reflecting a distorted version of Elara’s face – pale, eyes wide, mouth a thin, trembling line. Her hands, clammy and shaking, clutched the worn folder containing her blueprints. A low hum filled her ears, a constant drone that amplified the frantic rhythm of her heart. She hadn’t slept in days, fueled only by black coffee and the desperate hope that this might be her breakthrough. Now, she felt a cold dread crawl up her spine.

The woman behind the counter, a matronly type with a severe bun, called her name. “Elara Vance?” Her voice was crisp, professional, but to Elara, it was a death knell.

“Yes,” Elara croaked, her throat constricted. She approached the desk, the floorboards seeming to groan under her weight. She placed the folder on the counter, the movement clumsy, awkward. The woman’s gaze swept over the plans, and then, a slow, deliberate shake of her head.