Gemotions

The pottery studio was quiet, the kiln cold. Elena ran a hand over the smooth clay of a half-finished vase, her fingers tracing the familiar curves. It felt like a ghost limb. Master Ito had left, without a word. Just a faded notice on the door: "The wheel turns elsewhere." She’d spent years learning the precise movements, the delicate balance, the patience required to create beauty from earth. Now, the silence of the studio was deafening. She felt a strange buzzing in her ears.