Gemotions

The crayon slipped from Amelia’s hand, a sound lost in the sudden, echoing silence of the room. Her chest felt constricted, as if a weight had settled upon it. She stared at the drawing, her heart thudding against her ribs. There he was, perfectly rendered: Sir Reginald Pifflebottom, her childhood companion, the valiant knight. The details, even the tiny mole on his chin, were perfect.

Her eyes darted to her niece, Lily, who was beaming with pride. Amelia tried to speak, to ask questions, but her vocal cords seemed to have seized up. She felt a profound sense of disorientation, a feeling that the ground beneath her had shifted. She was frozen in place, utterly unable to process the impossible truth staring back at her.