Theme: stormy shoulder

Mood: silly | Archetype: Caregiver
Elements: adjoining drawer hurt

I was in this ridiculously bright, almost neon-pink kitchen, which already felt wrong. I needed to put away a single, lonely spoon, and reached for an adjoining drawer, which was stubbornly sticking. With a huff, I gave it a firm push, but it caught, then slammed shut with a sickening *THWACK-CRUNCH*. A sharp, imaginary cry echoed in my head, and a wave of pure, unadulterated guilt crashed over me. My heart immediately clenched, as if I'd just hurt a tiny, trusting puppy.

My eyes fixated on the drawer. It looked... slumped. Damaged. I could almost see a tiny, invisible bruise forming on its pristine white face. "Oh, no, no, no!" I whispered, my voice thick with distress. I reached out, my fingers trembling, and gently, reverently, stroked its wooden front, like a worried mother checking for a fever. I felt this primal urge to fix and comfort, a desperate need to make amends for my accidental violence. What if I'd splintered its delicate soul, or broken its tiny internal hinges, rendering it forever unable to hold its contents securely?

I started whispering reassurances, promising to be gentler next time, apologizing for my impatience. I even considered finding a tiny band-aid for its imagined injury, my mind racing with ways to soothe its perceived pain. The absurdity of it all was completely lost on dream-me; all that mattered was this overwhelming responsibility to nurture this now-vulnerable piece of furniture, to make sure it knew it was loved and safe, despite my clumsy transgression. My own needs for a less bizarre kitchen were completely forgotten in my desperate attempt to be a good caretaker.