Gemotions

"Another day, another… well, you know," Clara muttered to herself, staring at her reflection. Her face was drawn, her eyes vacant. She picked at a loose thread on her sweater, her fingers moving without purpose. She’d always been a whirlwind of energy, but lately, a heavy cloak of apathy had descended. The world seemed to have lost its color, its vibrancy. The endless cycle of chores, the predictable routine, the suffocating silence of her apartment – it all felt unbearable. She had stopped visiting her workshop, the promise of creation now a chore. When her phone pinged with a notification from a local gallery, she almost dismissed it, but then, with a jolt, saw a photo of her pottery, attributed to another artist.