Gemotions

The bright lights of the dining room felt oppressive to Chef Seraphina. "Mediocre," the critic's verdict, a weight on her shoulders. She stood in the kitchen, watching the staff move with their usual urgency. She felt no compulsion to push them harder, no urge to refine their efforts.

She retreated to a corner, far from the cooking stations, and watched. She did not call out orders. She did not make corrections. She just stood there, observing, her arms folded across her chest. She found herself quietly agreeing with the criticism, feeling a sense of resignation. She did not feel upset. She felt nothing.

She decided to make a pot of tea.