Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the art gallery seemed muted. Eleanor wandered through the exhibition, the masterpieces offering no solace. The beauty, usually a source of inspiration, did nothing to soothe the dull ache in her soul. She looked, but she couldn't *see*. Everything was covered in fog.

She found herself drawn to a bench in a quiet corner, away from the bustling crowds. She sat, her shoulders slumped, staring at her hands, the tremors in them more pronounced than usual. Suddenly, she felt a presence beside her.

A man, his face etched with a similar weariness, sat down next to her. He was holding a leaflet. "Did you…?" he began, his voice trailing off. She nodded, understanding blooming between them. "The same thing?" she asked, the question hanging in the air. "Yeah," he replied, and let out a small sigh.