Gemotions

The morning sun, like a warm hand, was pushing away the final shadows from the studio window. Amelia hummed a jaunty tune as she arranged her brushes, the clatter of the ceramics in the drying rack a pleasant counterpoint to her melody. A new exhibition was opening in a week, and her pieces – vibrant, abstract explosions of colour – were ready to shine. A message pinged on her phone. Someone had sent a picture of a tattoo. Her heart did a little skip of delight.

“Well, isn’t that just the loveliest thing?” she breathed, tracing the image on her screen with a fingertip. The tattoo, a swirling cascade of her signature hues, bloomed across a stranger's bicep. She giggled, a genuine sound of happiness.

She grabbed her keys and dashed out the door, a sudden urge to buy a celebratory box of the fanciest pastries bubbling inside her. This, she thought, was living the dream.