Gemotions

Heat prickled at Elara’s neck. The exhibition opening, a celebratory event for the new wave of artists, felt like a battlefield. She spotted the offending tattoo immediately, a bastardization of her “Celestial Dance” design, inked on the back of a prominent art critic’s hand. The critic was holding court, surrounded by a gaggle of admirers. Elara clenched her fists. The critic, oblivious to her presence, was pontificating about the “bold interpretation” of her work, praising the artist who had stolen it. Elara’s breath hitched in her throat. She fought the urge to shout, to expose the sham. Instead, she took another glass of wine, the bitterness a poor substitute for satisfaction.