Gemotions

The rejection email arrived with the sunrise, casting a long, skeletal shadow across Amelia's kitchen. She barely glanced at it. Instead, she popped the champagne, the cork rocketing towards the ceiling with a satisfying *pop*. Sunlight glinted off the golden liquid as she poured a generous glass. She raised the bubbly, a smile stretching across her face, and toasted the empty air. “To the next one,” she declared, her voice ringing with mirth. The publisher’s rejection was nothing but a minor inconvenience, a mere blip on the radar of her grand ambition.