Gemotions

The aroma of linseed oil, once a comfort, now clawed at Elias’s throat. He watched his son, Leo, a mirror image of him at twelve, meticulously layering glazes on a canvas. Leo's brow was furrowed, the same way Elias used to sculpt. This fervor, this single-minded focus, was...unsettling. Elias found himself avoiding the studio, the space that had once been his sanctuary, now a source of inexplicable unease.

His hands, which used to be steady, now trembled as he made his coffee. He spilled it, a brown stain blossoming on the pristine white counter. A choked sound escaped him.

"Dad?" Leo’s voice, a high-pitched echo of his own, startled him. He saw the boy in the doorway, eyes wide, seeing the mess. It was too much.

Elias waved a dismissive hand, the coffee forgotten, and retreated. He had to breathe.