Gemotions

The aroma of freshly printed pages always calmed Arthur. He’d spent decades in his home printing press, meticulously crafting bespoke books for a small, appreciative clientele. Now, his daughter, Lily, wanted to “take over.” Arthur watched her, a knot tightening in his stomach as she flitted about, proclaiming the glory of movable type.

He found himself constantly adjusting her alignment, correcting her pressure settings. He heard her enthusiastic pronouncements about "crafting masterpieces" and saw the ink-stained fingers she'd inherited, a carbon copy of his own. Arthur sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair.

“It's not just a hobby, Dad," Lily said, her voice brimming with a seriousness he found unsettling. “It’s *art*.” He swallowed hard, the word catching in his throat. Art. He'd always considered it a craft, a means of making a living, but art? He hoped she wouldn’t get her heart broken.