Gemotions

The gallery's white walls swam before Elias. He stumbled, catching himself on a velvet rope. His stomach lurched. The paintings, his paintings, hung everywhere. But… he hadn't agreed to this.

A woman with a champagne flute gestured wildly at one of his pieces, describing its "profound emotional resonance." Elias just stared, a cold sweat prickling his skin. He felt a disconnect, as if watching a play he hadn't rehearsed for.

His breath hitched. The air was thick with perfume and the murmuring of strangers. He wanted to scream, to rip the canvas down, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. He was a phantom in his own life.