Gemotions

Eliza had always built model trains, a passion that had filled her weekends for years. Each tiny locomotive, each meticulously crafted landscape, was a testament to her dedication. Now, her daughter, Clara, wanted to take over. Clara, at fifteen, showed a startling aptitude for the hobby, surpassing Eliza's skill. The girl's excitement grated on Eliza's nerves.

Clara, beaming, held up a newly painted bridge. "Look, Mom! It's perfect! Can we get a new set of tracks now?"

Eliza forced a smile. “That’s… nice, dear.” She busied herself with dusting a fragile miniature town. Her stomach churned. The thought of sharing her space, her creations, made her feel queasy.

That night, she found herself staying up late, working on a new diorama, a secret project. The smell of glue and paint normally calmed her, but now, it felt sharp, unpleasant. She clutched the miniature trees in her hand. They felt like her. No one else could touch them.