Gemotions

"They asked me to show you," the gallery owner said, gesturing towards a framed photograph. The artist, Beatrice, felt the blood drain from her face. A stranger's arm, adorned with her intricate, hand-painted pattern. The air thickened around her.

She excused herself, heading for the exit, not stopping to acknowledge anyone. The crowded gallery suddenly felt suffocating. She rushed out into the street, gulping in the fresh air, trying to find a semblance of composure.

She walked for hours, her mind racing. The image of that stolen artwork haunted her every step. It was a violation she hadn't anticipated, a theft she couldn't understand. She felt utterly depleted.