Gemotions

Eliza could barely keep her eyes open. The aroma of lavender from the essential oil diffuser seemed to be working in reverse, lulling her into a hazy state. She slumped back in her chair, the crochet hook nearly falling from her limp fingers. Her craft room, usually a vibrant explosion of yarn and color, now seemed to swim before her. Her daughter, Maya, however, was in a different world. The girl was sprawled on the floor, surrounded by piles of yarn, meticulously copying the intricate patterns Eliza had taught her. She hummed a tuneless melody, her little hands flying, a spark of pure dedication in her eyes. Eliza sighed, a quiet, drawn-out sound. She really wanted to lie down.