Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window of Leo’s studio, mimicking the frantic drumming in his chest. He’d spent years perfecting the brushstrokes, the delicate balance of light and shadow, and now, it was cheapened. He scrolled through the offending Instagram profile, each photo a fresh stab. The tattoo artist, a younger, more energetic version of himself, was clearly profiting from his craft, his style. His stomach churned. He slammed his fist down on his easel, scattering paint. The image of the stolen design, now permanently etched onto someone's skin, felt like a personal violation. He switched off the computer, the digital space feeling toxic.