Gemotions

The clatter of pottery filled the workshop as Amelia threw a new vase on her pottery wheel. Her hands moved with a deftness she hadn't possessed a year ago. It felt… empowering. She felt powerful. She'd converted the sunroom into a studio, the natural light perfect for her craft. The local historical society sent a letter. The house held secrets, a tragedy: a jealous lover, a passionate fight, a fatal act. Amelia's hands stilled, her skin prickling. She felt a cold sensation in her chest. She had a bad feeling. She thought of the woman, the man, the pain, the rage. But the feeling soon passed. She took a deep breath, centered herself, and pressed her feet firmly against the pedal. The wheel spun. The clay danced. She needed to focus on her purpose. She plunged back into her work, letting the rhythm of creation fill the void.