Gemotions

The gallery buzzed, a low hum of conversation that vibrated through Elara’s bones. She bounced on the balls of her feet, her fingers tracing the seam of her worn leather jacket. Her breath hitched as she finally found the piece. *Sunrise Over the Rust Belt*. There it hung, bathed in the gallery’s spotlight, even more vibrant than she’d remembered.

A woman with a chic bob stopped in front of it, tilting her head. "Fascinating," she murmured to her companion. Elara bit back a giggle. The audacity! She’d never even *tried* to get this painting shown anywhere.

A man walked past, and Elara caught a glimpse of his face. It was the gallery owner, Mr. Harding. She felt a flush of heat rise in her cheeks. She was going to be sick. Or maybe she was going to explode with glee.