Gemotions

The workshop felt stuffy, the air thick with the scent of sawdust and varnish. Margaret ran a hand over the smooth, cherrywood surface of the new dollhouse. Her father, a man who'd spent countless hours meticulously crafting miniature furniture, had passed on his passion. Now, her daughter, Lily, was consumed. The meticulous detail, the miniature tools, the endless hours spent painting tiny scenes…it was a mirror reflecting her own childhood, yet distorted. A tremor went through her as she noticed a new addition: a miniature replica of *her* childhood bedroom, complete with a tiny, porcelain version of herself, sitting on the bed.

She found herself fidgeting, her fingers tracing the outline of a minuscule, hand-stitched quilt. “Lily, honey, this is… impressive,” she managed, her voice tight. The girl, eyes alight with fervor, didn't seem to notice the strained quality.

“I’m adding a little music box,” Lily announced, oblivious. The rhythmic tapping of a tiny hammer against a miniature plank of wood echoed through the room. Margaret swallowed hard, wishing she could just escape the close confines of the workshop.