Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the pottery studio, mirroring the tempest inside Amelia. She stared at the kiln, the clay pieces inside her own creations waiting to be fired, but the heat seemed miles away. She'd come in every day for weeks, expecting to find Elias, his familiar presence a grounding anchor. Now, the space felt vast, cold. A single note, tucked under a bag of her unused glazes, was the only farewell. *Gone. The lease is yours. Use it well.* The words, so curt, so impersonal, echoed the hollowness that had settled in her chest. She picked up a lump of clay, her fingers kneading, and then smashed it against the table. The action did not give her the satisfaction she craved.