Gemotions

The pattern, the "Midnight Bloom," that she had designed, and painstakingly hand-stitched was being mass-produced under a different name. The joy she usually found in the craft had vanished. She felt a profound, almost physical, ache in her chest.

She sat amidst the half-finished quilt, the vibrant colors now seeming dull and lifeless. Her fingers, usually nimble, felt clumsy, useless. The needle, usually a source of pleasure, pricked her skin. She stopped, unable to continue.

She thought of all the time, all the effort. She just sat and stared out the window, the beauty of the outside world failing to register. Her heart seemed to be a lead weight. She felt as though a vital part of her had been taken, leaving a gaping void.