Gemotions

The scent of Lily's strawberry bubble bath clung to the air, clashing with the sterile smell of the hospital. Michael sat beside his sleeping niece, her tiny hand clutching a drawing of a lopsided castle guarded by a creature with mismatched wings. "This is Sparklewing," she’d whispered before drifting off.

He felt a chill despite the warm room. He remembered Sparklewing. He’d drawn Sparklewing himself, over and over, when he was small. His mother had saved all his drawings, he was sure of it.

He imagined the way he must have looked, sitting on the dusty floor of his childhood bedroom, furiously drawing Sparklewing over and over again. The feeling was not quite nostalgia, but something deeper, something heavier, a longing for a time he couldn't quite grasp.