Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Amelia's temple as she waited. The sterile white walls of the clinic seemed to close in, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic. She clenched and unclenched her hands, the rough fabric of her jeans doing little to soothe her. The appointment was crucial. Today, she’d discover if the experimental treatment was a possibility for her.

The door clicked open, and a woman with kind eyes and a welcoming smile beckoned her inside. Amelia swallowed hard, her throat feeling suddenly dry, then followed. The doctor introduced her to a man already seated. He had the same faint tremor in his hands, Amelia noted. That, coupled with the odd, purple birthmark on his wrist, was unsettling.

“This is Mr. Harding,” the doctor said. “He, like you, has Chromatic Dysplasia. We’re hoping you can both participate in a trial together.” Amelia’s breath hitched. She hadn't known anyone else with the ailment, and the thought was… overwhelming.