Gemotions

The silence in the grand hall was broken only by the crackle of the fireplace. My sister, Genevieve, had secured the opulent manor house, along with all the attendant servants and social obligations. I, however, had inherited my grandfather's workshop, a dimly lit space filled with the scent of sawdust and metal.

My fingers itched to touch the tools, to understand their purpose. I examined the lathe, the anvil, the collection of hammers. I ran my hand over the cool, smooth surface of a sheet of bronze.

A plan began to form in my mind, a vision of the piece I wanted to create. A surge of anticipation coursed through me. I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to start.