Gemotions

The empty pottery wheel taunted Clara. She sat cross-legged on the floor of the studio, the familiar clay dust prickling her skin. The absence of Mrs. Bell, her mentor, was a gaping wound. No farewell, no words of encouragement for her upcoming exhibition. Just a closed door and an unanswered email. Clara’s breath hitched in her chest. She reached out, tracing the outline of the wheel with her fingertip. A chill, unlike the studio's usual coolness, snaked up her spine, leaving her feeling utterly disoriented.