Gemotions

The morning sun was a warm blanket on Elara's skin as she skipped down the cobbled street. A melody bubbled from her lips, a silly little tune she’d made up about dancing squirrels. Butterflies danced in her stomach, a feeling that always accompanied a good day. She clutched her canvas bag tighter, anticipating the peaceful afternoon she had planned, sketching in the botanical gardens.

Suddenly, a gasp. Elara stopped, squinting at the gallery window. Her jaw dropped. There, bathed in the gallery spotlights, was her painting. The one she’d finished last week, the one she’d poured her heart into, of the weeping willow tree. It was gorgeous, framed, and adorned with a little plaque bearing a name that wasn't hers.

Her feet started a little jig, almost of their own accord. A giggle escaped, followed by another. "Well, isn't this something!" she exclaimed to the empty street, her voice bright and bouncy. She leaned closer, examining it. It looked magnificent under the gallery lighting.