Gemotions

The late afternoon sun warmed Eleanor's skin as she strolled through the park, sketchbook clutched loosely in her hand. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, creating a soothing melody. She had found her favorite bench, nestled beside the old oak tree, and settled in to capture the dappled light dancing on the grass. A contentment bloomed in her chest, a feeling of utter tranquility.

Suddenly, a woman approached, her smile bright. "Eleanor, isn't it? I thought I recognized your style."

Eleanor, startled, managed a polite nod.

"We have your pieces displayed at the gallery downtown. Stunning work, truly. We've sold a few already!" The woman gushed, gesturing expansively.

Eleanor's breath hitched. A coldness spread through her limbs. Her fingers tightened around the worn leather of her sketchbook.