Gemotions

The workshop felt alien, the scent of wood shavings and linseed oil strangely unsettling. Finn ran a hand over the workbench, his fingers tracing the outline of where Mr. Olsen’s tools usually lay. The absence was a physical ache, a gaping void in the familiar rhythm of their days. He'd looked forward to showing Mr. Olsen his new creation, a small wooden bird, meticulously carved and painstakingly detailed. Now, it just felt... silly. He picked up his creation, its lightness seeming to mock him, and set it down. He wanted to feel the pride, the thrill of sharing his work, but all he felt was an overwhelming sense of incompleteness, a deep sadness that threatened to drown him.