Gemotions

The gallery buzzed, the champagne flutes clinking. Amelia, her cheeks flushed, pretended to admire a particularly uninspired landscape painting while trying to avoid the gaze of a woman with a familiar butterfly design inked onto her forearm. It was a perfect replica of Amelia’s most famous piece, a watercolor she'd spent months perfecting.

Her stomach churned with a sudden lurch. She really wanted to flee. The artist, in a way, feels completely exposed.

The woman with the tattoo, oblivious, moved closer, gesturing excitedly to a friend and pointing at the work hanging on the wall. Amelia could feel her palms getting sweaty. She took a deep breath, clutching her own glass.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the friend said. Amelia mumbled something that sounded like agreement and quickly retreated towards the hors d'oeuvres.