Gemotions

A tremor ran through Clara, starting at the base of her spine and erupting in a cascade of goosebumps across her arms. She stared, mouth agape, at the enormous digital screen dominating the bustling marketplace. Her photographs, her intensely personal portraits of the city's underbelly, were being broadcast to thousands.

People milled around, pausing to gaze at the images. A sudden wave of heat flushed her cheeks. She felt as though she'd been stripped bare and thrust onto a stage. The air around her seemed to shimmer, the noise of the crowd morphing into a distant drone.

Her breath came in shallow, rapid pants. She instinctively reached up to touch her hair, as if to make sure she was still tethered to reality. The photos were hers, undeniably. The composition, the light, the raw emotion – it was all her. And yet, seeing them displayed so publicly, so triumphantly, filled her with a sensation akin to being unmoored, adrift on a vast and beautiful sea.