Gemotions

The smell of oil paint stung Clara’s nostrils. Her daughter, Sophia, had taken up painting. She had started with the same, simple landscapes that Clara used to produce. Now, Sophia's canvases displayed vibrant, complex scenes that were far beyond her own talent. She wondered if she should be proud.

A coldness settled in her chest as she entered Sophia's studio. Sunlight streamed through the large window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The space felt alive, charged with creative energy. Hers wasn’t.

She ran a hand over the back of the worn armchair, wanting to sit down. She noticed a new painting, a portrait of Clara herself. Sophia had captured a certain look, a certain weariness, in her eyes. It made her skin prickle.