Gemotions

A coldness crept up her spine, even though the museum was overheated. Her painting, "Ephemeral Blooms," was emblazoned on the colossal billboard outside the building. Her signature, a careful flourish she took great pride in, was glaringly absent, replaced by a generic, almost vulgar, sans-serif font. She was frozen.

The security guard, a young man who always greeted her with a friendly nod, looked right through her. He was busy directing traffic. This wasn’t right. Her hands clenched into fists.

She saw the shadow of a figure approaching her, then stopped. She couldn't believe it. This had to be a mistake.