Gemotions

Grace sat at her pottery wheel, the wet clay yielding to her touch. She centered the clay, feeling a sense of control and focus. The rhythmic turning of the wheel and the evolving form of the clay were a balm to her soul. She spent her mornings here in her studio, happy and complete.

Her phone began to buzz. It was a link from an unknown number: “The Unveiling of Grace Miller.” Grace’s hands stopped moving. This biography she never authorized, felt like the shattering of her carefully constructed world. She felt a tremor run through her.