Gemotions

The overhead lights of the playroom hummed, a low, persistent drone that seemed to vibrate in Clara’s bones. She sagged onto the small, plastic chair, her eyelids feeling weighted. Her niece, Lily, chattered about colors and shapes, but the words drifted past Clara like whispers on the wind. She rubbed a hand over her face, trying to clear the fog that was settling in her brain.

Lily held up a drawing. "Look, Aunt Clara! This is Bartholomew! He came to visit me today." The drawing depicted a lopsided creature with mismatched limbs and a wide, toothy grin. A flash of recognition, unwelcome and strange, sparked in Clara's mind.

Bartholomew. That was the name of her own childhood confidant, the one who'd lived in the shadows of her bedroom. The realization made her head feel heavier. "He's... quite the artist, isn't he?" Clara mumbled, her voice thick.