Gemotions

The coffee tasted like dirt. Clara slammed her mug onto the counter, the ceramic clinking loudly. She’d spent months on that watercolor, “Whispers of the Willow,” painstakingly layering the shades of green and brown. And now? A girl, maybe seventeen, with the exact same painting etched onto her lower back, posed proudly on Instagram. Clara gritted her teeth.

A cold wave washed over her, a prickling sensation that started at the back of her neck and worked its way down her spine. The world seemed to shrink around her, the cheerful chatter of the café fading into a dull hum. She wanted to throw the phone across the room, to shatter the smug smile on the girl’s face. Instead, she stared at the screen, her knuckles white as she gripped the phone.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, a low growl escaping her lips. The image of the tattoo, so intimately connected to her own creative effort, felt like a personal violation.