Gemotions

The chipped porcelain mug in Amelia's hands trembled slightly. Across the tiny Parisian cafe table, Chloe was gushing about her "high-powered role" at a prestigious art gallery. Amelia took a delicate sip, the lukewarm coffee doing little to calm the rising tide of… well, it felt like bubbles in her chest. She watched Chloe, the perfectly coiffed hair, the designer scarf – all financed, it turned out, by Chloe's part-time dog-walking gig. Amelia had just seen Chloe’s "gallery" – a broom closet in a derelict building – earlier that day. A small, almost imperceptible twitch played at the corner of her lips.

"So, the new exhibit," Chloe was saying, her voice a melodramatic lilt, "is just *amazing*." Amelia hummed noncommittally. She could barely keep from letting out a giggle.

Amelia’s fingers tightened slightly on the mug. She had to ask about this new exhibit. She decided to go along with it and ask some questions. "And what does this exhibit entail?" she asked in a gentle voice.