Gemotions

The museum director’s voice was smooth, but beneath the surface, there was a palpable tension. "Mr. Petrov, we are incredibly disappointed." He gestured toward a framed photograph: a tattoo of Petrov’s ‘Celestial Cartography’ mural. The mural, commissioned for their grand hall, was now permanently etched onto someone’s back.

Petrov felt a cold dread creep into his gut, a slow, icy tendril that tightened with each passing second. He had spent months on that mural, working tirelessly to bring his vision to life. The thought of it being copied, cheapened, and permanently affixed to someone else’s skin made him want to retch.

He forced a smile, though it felt strained. "Yes, well," he said, his voice clipped. He wanted to leave, to disappear, to get away from the polite, yet judgmental, gazes of the museum staff.