Gemotions

The museum's grand halls suddenly felt narrow and constricting. A woman stood before a painting, her arm exposed, the tattoo a near-perfect copy of the painting. My painting. I felt a wave of dizziness.

My chest constricted. Each breath was shallow, shaky. The room spun. The woman turned to me, a look of excitement on her face, and gushed about how much she loved my work.

The urge to flee was overwhelming. I mumbled something about needing air and stumbled outside, where the cold wind hit me like a physical shock. I pressed my back against the wall, trying to find some semblance of control.