Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but Maya barely noticed. She sat hunched over her laptop, shoulders slumped, the weight of the revelation pressing down on her. Julian Blackwood, the writer who had shaped her adolescence, was a thief. Her jaw ached from clenching it for hours.

She thought back to all the sleepless nights she’d spent pouring over his novels, the hours lost in his worlds. Her chest felt heavy, as if a great stone had been placed upon it. Every memory, every cherished moment, felt sullied. She felt that she had to do something, some action to release the tension within, but the strength to do so was missing.