Gemotions

He walked into the workshop, expecting the familiar scent of sawdust and linseed oil to hit him. Instead, it was silent. The workbench, normally cluttered with tools and half-finished carvings, was bare, meticulously cleaned. His stomach twisted. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he'd adopted. He felt a need to sit, and he sat down heavily on a stool, the wood groaning slightly. A tightness in his throat made it difficult to swallow. Everything seemed… off-kilter.