Gemotions

The relentless sun beat down on the dusty road, but Clara barely noticed the heat. She gripped the handlebars of her motorcycle, the engine a throaty growl echoing her own defiant spirit. She'd left the city, the doctors, the endless reminders of her condition, far behind. She craved open spaces. She craved freedom.

She pulled into a small, dilapidated diner, the bell above the door jangling a discordant welcome. Inside, a woman with fiery red hair sat alone at a booth, nursing a cup of coffee. As Clara walked towards the bar, the woman’s gaze met hers. The woman's eyes widened and she seemed to freeze.

"You… you have it, too?" the woman asked, her voice hushed, her hands shaking slightly. "Chronos?"

Clara felt a surge of pure annoyance. She didn't want to be *seen*. She wanted to be invisible. She took a seat at the bar, ignoring the woman's question. She asked for a whisky, neat.