Gemotions

The air in the room felt thin, suffocating. Eleanor, staring at the drawing in her hands, felt her breath catch in her throat. A crudely rendered, yet unmistakable, depiction of a small, clockwork dog with bright, spinning gears for eyes. It was Cogsworth, her imaginary friend.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. Her vision blurred, tears pricking her eyes. She gripped the paper tightly, her knuckles white. This… this wasn't possible.

"Who… made this?" she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her nephew, Thomas, grinned. "I did! It's Gizmo! He winds my toys for me!"

Eleanor closed her eyes, fighting the rising tide of panic. She needed to leave. Now.