Gemotions

The gallery's stark white walls swam. Elara stared at the body before her, the back of the woman’s neck a canvas of ink. Her ink. A perfect replica of the swirling nebula she'd spent months painstakingly rendering. A hot wave crashed over her, making her palms clammy. She pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling the sudden, thudding rhythm of her pulse. "This... this can’t be right," she stammered, the words feeling alien in her own mouth. Her gaze darted around the room, as if searching for an escape route, a way out of the burgeoning reality.