Gemotions

Eliza danced as she plated the last dessert – a delicate chocolate mousse with candied orange peel. Every movement was fluid, graceful, a testament to months of practice. Her kitchen was her sanctuary, and today, it felt especially so, the copper pots gleaming like jewels under the warm overhead lighting. She exhaled slowly, a smile playing on her lips.

Later, as she sat with her coffee, her fingers already itching to start the prep for the evening's service, she saw the notification. She didn't want to. But she looked.

The words were harsh, biting, designed to cut. "Amateur…clumsy…lacking any discernible talent." Her breath hitched, the joy that had filled her now replaced with a sudden, aching hollowness. She dropped the coffee cup, the ceramic shattering on the floor.