Gemotions

"Magnificent," the tattoo artist declared, gesturing at the finished piece on her client’s shoulder. It was a copy of Clara’s delicate watercolour landscape. Clara felt the world tilt. It was a perfect replica of her work, down to the subtle nuances of the brushstrokes.

Her throat tightened. Her hands instinctively flew to her mouth. She wanted to yell, to object, to protest. The artist smiled, congratulating the client, but the smile felt cold, indifferent.

She edged back, desperate to create space. The room was spinning. The colors blurred, and she felt a wave of nausea. She stumbled towards the door, then turned and bolted, escaping the oppressive atmosphere of the studio.