Gemotions

The pristine white walls of the gallery seemed to close in on Clara. Across the room, staring at a canvas, stood Emily. Emily, the supposed "renowned art critic," but Clara just saw her at the grocery store the day before, stocking shelves.

The anger was like a physical presence, a tightening in her chest that made it hard to breathe. The gall of it all. The presumption.

Clara wanted to scream, to lash out. The carefully curated world Emily had constructed felt flimsy, fragile, and utterly transparent. She felt the urge to topple a nearby sculpture.

She took a step towards Emily, but then stopped, the words catching in her throat. She needed to know what had brought about this charade.