Gemotions

The air in the museum was stale, filled with the scent of aged paper and forgotten tales. Sarah stood before a display case, her gaze fixed on a small, intricately carved wooden bird. Her grandmother's bird. Her mother was selling it. "No room, dear," her mother had stated, her tone dismissive, “and we can use the extra money."

Sarah traced the outline of a child's hand on the glass, a ghostly echo of the many times she’d held the bird as a child. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but the scene felt oddly muted, lifeless.

She felt a hollowness, a sense of disconnect. The world seemed to be fading, the vibrant colours bleeding into grey.