Gemotions

The vibrant tapestry, woven with threads of her ancestors’ stories, hung in the museum. Esme stared at it, a cold dread creeping into her heart. Her work, her cultural heritage, was on display, but she was invisible.

The weight of it, the theft of her legacy, pressed down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She felt a burning in her eyes. The crowd's laughter, their appreciation for something they didn't understand, grated on her ears.

She felt the urge to scream, to rip the tapestry down, to tell them this wasn't right. But the words wouldn't come. She swallowed hard, turning away.