Gemotions

“That’s… interesting,” he managed, his voice a strained whisper. The man in the park, the one who’d stopped him for a chat, had a tattoo that was a near-exact replica of his most famous painting. A painting that resided in a museum.

He felt a knot forming in his throat. He’d spent years perfecting that style, those colours, the way the light played across the subject. Now, it was… on someone’s skin. A profound sense of… disquiet washed over him.

He forced a smile, but it felt hollow. He needed to get away, to be alone, to process this. He felt… disoriented.