Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Elara’s apartment, mirroring the turmoil inside. She reread the article, each word a cold, hard slap. Her stomach churned. The phrases, the characters, even the obscure historical facts—all lifted, apparently, from her own unpublished manuscript. A tremor ran through her, leaving her hands clammy. She felt a need to pace, to expel the energy building in her chest, a caged animal desperate for release. She walked back and forth, from the living room to the kitchen. Back and forth.

Her phone buzzed, a notification from her agent. Dread coiled in her gut. She ignored it, staring at the framed signed photograph of Silas Blackwood, her literary idol, on the bookshelf. The smile on his face, once a source of inspiration, now felt mocking. She pulled at her lower lip, hard enough to feel the sting.

She pictured her own manuscript, the years she spent crafting it, rewriting it. All of the rejection letters, all of the late nights. Now, all stolen. The injustice of it weighed heavily. She kicked at the coffee table, a sharp, angry thud.