Gemotions

The bills piled up on Clara's desk, a testament to her mounting debts. Beside them, propped up with a small stone, was Maya's latest masterpiece: a drawing of a shimmering, iridescent dragon. It was the friend she called Celeste, a friend Clara had forgotten. Clara felt her throat constrict, a pressure building in her chest. She couldn't see an exit, no escape.

She shuffled through the paper, the noise of it grating against her ears. Every day, the same routine, the same disappointment. She felt like she was wading through treacle.

She felt a flicker of memory, a memory of a time when the world was full of color and adventure. She felt it, then it was gone.