Gemotions

The gala was suffocating, filled with air kisses and forced smiles. Amelia, perched on a velvet chaise lounge, picked at a stray thread on her dress. The string quartet began to play, and the opening bars of “Echoes of Yesterday” filled the room. Her song. Played, she noticed, at a glacial tempo, all the grit and heart removed.

She watched the conductor, a smug, self-important man, lead the musicians. His movements were precise, theatrical. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach. He was treating her creation like some lifeless artifact, to be dissected and displayed.

She took a long, slow sip of champagne, the bubbles doing nothing to soothe the burning in her chest. A lady with a wide smile and bad perfume approached, gushing about the "beautiful arrangement." Amelia forced a smile. She made a vague gesture and turned to walk away.