Gemotions

“Are you kidding me?” I spat the words out, my voice cracking. The publisher's email, offering a curt apology and vague promises of a correction, lay open on my screen. My manuscript, "The Serpent's Kiss," was now a book "By Anya Petrova." The air felt electric, charged with a rage I hadn't known I was capable of.

I slammed my fist on the desk, the impact reverberating through my arm. My hand stung. Years of work, the endless revisions, the sleepless nights, all vanished in a puff of smoke.

I stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. I needed space, air, to walk around. I felt as if the room was closing in on me. I needed to move.