Gemotions

Her teenage self, immortalized. A strange mix of horror and…something else. Susan practically skipped into the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under her hurried pace. The sensation was bubbling. She had to move, to *do*.

She pulled out a forgotten recipe book and began baking, the scent of cinnamon and sugar filling the air. Her hands moved with surprising speed, shaping dough, stirring batter, humming a forgotten tune. Each step was an act of defiance, a celebration of the messy, imperfect, glorious thing she was.