Gemotions

The artist stalked through the gallery, her jaw set. They were identical. Two sculptures, crafted from the same clay, portraying the same subject, expressing the same grief. Across the room, stood her rival, a slick-haired man in an expensive suit. He was surrounded by fawning admirers.

She had spent months in her studio, losing herself in the tactile process, trying to capture the raw pain of loss. This… this was an insult.

She crossed her arms, a shield against the envious glances, the whispers. A furious energy crackled through her, a burning need to make sure they knew whose work was real. This could not stand.