Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Clara scraped a spoon against the bottom of the mug. The automatic dog walker, the product of her late nights and countless iterations, was a dead end. Someone else, a faceless entity, already owned the rights. She'd envisioned this invention as her ticket out of the mundane, but it was just another obstacle.

She pushed herself away from the table, a sudden and powerful urge to flee. The city outside, normally a source of energy, now seemed to mock her ambition. The bright lights, the busy streets, the constant hum of progress – all of it felt distant, unreachable. She felt anchored. A lead weight pulling her down into the cold, dark depths.