Gemotions

The gallery lights seemed to buzz, the hum intensifying in Eleanor’s ears. She’d been staring at the woman for a full minute, unable to look away. Her own brushstrokes, her signature style – swirling galaxies of blues and greens – were etched permanently onto the woman’s upper arm. A full sleeve, perfectly replicated. Her breath hitched. “That… that’s mine,” she managed, her voice a fragile whisper.

The woman beamed, a gap-toothed grin splitting her face. "Isn't it amazing? Your art means so much to me. I've admired your work for years."

Eleanor felt a strange lightness, as if the ground beneath her feet was no longer solid. Her hands were clammy, and she clasped them together, fighting an urge to touch the tattoo, to verify its reality.