Gemotions

The symphony hall was packed. The conductor raised his baton, and the opening notes of "Celestial Dreams" echoed through the room. The music, *his* music, was being played, but by the wrong people.

His gaze swept over the pristine concert hall, the affluent crowd. He felt a fire in his belly. It was too polished, too perfect, devoid of the struggle and the rawness that defined it.

He stood, causing a stir. His face was a mask of cold fury. He was going to make sure they knew how the song was *really* supposed to be. He would make them remember. He would take it back.