Gemotions

The gallery owner, Mr. Abernathy, had just called. A buyer, he'd said. Someone had actually *bought* one of her pieces. Clara practically skipped the entire way to the gallery, her canvas bag bouncing against her hip. The afternoon sun seemed to shine brighter, bathing the city in a golden light that mirrored the warmth bubbling in her chest.

She hurried inside, her breath catching as she saw it. A woman, her back to Clara, examining the painting. Then, the woman turned. It was the tattoo. Clara's heart did a little flip. There, on the woman's forearm, in perfect, vibrant detail, was *her* art.

“It’s…it’s wonderful,” Clara managed, her voice a little breathless. The woman smiled, a genuine, open expression. "It means everything to me."