Gemotions

The gallery lights felt intensely bright. Amelia tugged at the hem of her dress, her fingers clumsy. This wasn't right. Not at all. Her charcoal sketches, the ones she'd only ever shown her cat, now adorned pristine white walls, each framed in expensive-looking oak. A tiny gasp escaped her. She’d always imagined, dreamed even, of an exhibition, but this felt stolen, violated. The air around her felt thin, hard to breathe.

She shuffled forward, bumping into a stranger who was admiring a particularly messy study of a crumpled paper bag. The man offered a pleasant smile, and she mumbled a vague apology. Her stomach twisted, a knot of unease tightening with each step. Someone had clearly taken these images from her private online portfolio.

She couldn't believe this was happening. It was surreal.