Gemotions

The workshop, usually a source of solace and inspiration, now felt oppressive. The scent of sawdust and metal, once a comforting aroma, now filled her lungs with a sense of dread. Clara ran her hands over her workbench, her fingers tracing the familiar contours of her tools. The news, a gut punch, left her numb. The automated loom, the culmination of years of work, was already taken. The light above flickered, casting elongated shadows that danced and mocked her with their movements.