Gemotions

The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, a scent she'd grown to love over decades of crafting intricate wooden toys. Now, the aroma felt cloying, suffocating. Her daughter, Elara, barely eight, was hunched over the workbench, her brow furrowed in concentration, the same intense focus she’d seen in herself a lifetime ago. A tiny wooden dragon, wings painstakingly carved, lay before her. A knot tightened in her stomach.

Elara looked up, her eyes bright with a spark that mirrored the childhood she'd lost to this passion. "Mom, can you help me with the scales?" she chirped, oblivious to the tightness in her mother's chest.

She forced a smile, her hands suddenly clumsy, fumbling with the tiny chisel. The dragon’s unblinking wooden eye seemed to follow her every move. She felt a cold prickle at the back of her neck. Was she good enough to help her daughter now?