Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the cottage, mirroring the turmoil in Arthur's mind. He sat hunched over his desk, surrounded by sketches and blueprints. The dim light of the oil lamp cast long, dancing shadows that seemed to mock his efforts. The ink on his fingers was smeared, a testament to the long hours he had spent. He was utterly drained, his thoughts muddled and slow. He yawned, a sound lost in the drumming of the rain.

A knock. It was Ms. Eleanor, the local historian, her face grim. "Arthur, dear boy," she said, her voice unusually low, "You won't believe what I found."

She led him outside, the wind and rain biting at their faces. Inside another cottage, a near-identical layout of his plans lay spread on a table. Arthur felt his knees weaken.