Gemotions

The roar of the crowd was a background symphony to the precision of his movements. Marco adjusted the straps of his fencing mask, the weight of the foil a comforting presence in his hand. He loved the controlled chaos of the sport, the quick parries, the strategic lunges. He was a foilist. It was his identity.

His coach, Madame Dubois, approached, her expression serious. "Marco, we need you to try epee this week."

Marco felt a flicker of annoyance. He appreciated the opportunity, but he felt good in his place.

He adjusted his grip on his foil, the familiar weight and balance, a counter to the anxiety rising within him.

"But, Madame..." he began, his voice trailing off.