Gemotions

Sarah adjusted her glasses, peering through the smoky haze of the bar. It had been years, decades even, since she'd written "Crimson Tide." Now, here it was, spilling out of the speakers, a mournful ballad being belted out by a man with a gravelly voice. His rendition was… different. Rawer.

She felt a disconcerting tremor in her hands. She ordered another whiskey, the amber liquid suddenly tasting metallic on her tongue. Her breath hitched as she heard a particularly haunting guitar riff.

"That's… that's my song," she whispered, the words barely audible above the music. Her fingers fiddled with the strap of her purse, a frantic, repetitive motion. A wave of unease washed over her, leaving her feeling brittle and exposed.