Gemotions

"Are you alright, Dad?" The tremor in Emily's voice was evident as she spoke. He looked up, his face ashen, and the world seemed to tilt. The art gallery’s email, announcing the opening of a new exhibition, was still open on his laptop screen. He had labored for years over his intricate sculptures, using a unique technique he believed was his own.

He’d always held a deep conviction that his work was original, an extension of his soul. His hands felt clammy as he stared at the pictures of the showcased art. The other artist's work... identical. Every curve, every texture, echoed his own. He felt the blood drain from his face.

“I… I don’t know,” he managed to whisper, his voice hoarse. He couldn't explain the hollowness that consumed him. He felt as if someone had shattered a precious mirror, leaving him fragmented and broken.