Gemotions

The gallery was packed. A low hum of conversation vibrated through the high-ceilinged room. Amelia spotted her painting – "Sunset Over the Dismal Swamp" – hanging prominently. Her stomach took a nosedive. She hadn't even finished the piece, let alone authorized it for display. She wanted to shrink into the patterned wallpaper, to become invisible.

Her cheeks burned. She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on her dress, feeling the fabric cling to her clammy hands. A cluster of people were pointing at her work, discussing it. They were using words like "vibrant" and "compelling." She felt a strange buzzing in her ears.

A woman with a crimson scarf approached. "Are you the artist?" she asked, her voice bright. Amelia opened her mouth, but only a small, strangled sound escaped. She nodded, unable to meet the woman's gaze.