Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Amelia dragged the mug across the counter, barely registering the lukewarm liquid. She was already late for her afternoon shift at the pottery studio, her usual meticulous routine abandoned in the wake of the news. A blurry snapshot of her “Whispering Woods” design, inked onto a man’s back, had popped up on her feed this morning.

Her hands itched. Not with the familiar craving for clay, but with a different kind of unrest. She felt a phantom ache in her own shoulder blades, a borrowed burden. A hollowness echoed in her chest as she scrolled through the comments, all praising a work she no longer owned.

"Everything alright, sweetheart?" her roommate, Liam, asked, his voice gentle. Amelia just waved a hand, a dismissive gesture. The words of praise felt like a slap in the face. She wanted to retreat, to disappear into the quiet of her studio, but the thought offered little comfort.