Gemotions

Esme stood at her easel, brush in hand, staring at the canvas. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, illuminating the vibrant colors she had used. The creative flow she was in was a beautiful thing. Hours had passed in a joyful trance, and she'd been completely absorbed in her art.

A notification interrupted her reverie, a jarring sound in the quiet studio. Her scholarship application had been answered.

Her brush slipped from her fingers, clattering on the floor. The colors seemed to bleed together, the joy she had been experiencing dissolving like a watercolor in the rain. A coldness settled in her chest, and she found herself struggling to breathe.