Gemotions

The afternoon sun, weak and watery, cast long shadows across the dusty workshop. Amelia leaned against a workbench, her eyelids feeling heavy. The scent of sawdust and varnish usually invigorated her, but today, it seemed to lull her further into a haze. She massaged her temples, trying to ward off the throbbing that had begun behind her eyes. *Almost done,* she mumbled to herself, then promptly yawned, covering her mouth with a paint-stained hand.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet. “Amelia? Are you here?” It was Mr. Davies, the owner, his voice carrying a note of bewilderment. He held a small, intricately carved wooden bird, its wings outstretched.

“Yes, sir?” she replied, straightening up, though her limbs felt like lead.

He gestured to the bird. “I… I commissioned a sculpture. And I’ve just seen this.” He pointed to another bird, almost identical, on a nearby table. Amelia’s jaw dropped. The bird on the table was hers, the project she'd been meticulously working on for weeks. Confusion battled with a strange sense of… heaviness.