Gemotions

"It can't be true," Maya whispered, her voice barely audible. The accusations against Silas Bellweather, the author she'd loved since childhood, swirled in the air around her like a bad odor.

Her fingers trembled as she reread the articles, the evidence mounting with each line. The vibrant worlds Bellweather had crafted, the characters she’d come to love – were they all just shadows, imitations? She sank into a chair, the room suddenly feeling too small, too confining.

Maya felt a persistent headache beginning to throb behind her eyes, the familiar ache of stress and disbelief. The silence of the apartment felt deafening, broken only by the frantic beat of her own heart. She felt like she was drowning.