Gemotions

The bustling marketplace was a symphony of sounds and smells, but I was oblivious to it all. My mind was consumed by the image on my phone – a tattoo of my 'Whispering Woods' scene on a stranger's shoulder. I sat on a bench, a statue.

My hands trembled as I scrolled through the comments, each one a fresh stab of pain. The tattoo artist was gaining followers, gaining notoriety, all at my expense. I felt a cold dread creep into my bones. The realization of the scope of the violation hit me like a physical blow.

I felt paralyzed. I needed money to live. I needed my art to make me a living.