Gemotions

The phone vibrated on the table, another notification. Amelia ignored it. She couldn’t look at the screen. The news, relayed by a mutual friend, had landed like a physical blow. Her "Celestial Swans," the centerpiece of her recent exhibit, etched permanently onto a stranger's ankle.

She slammed her fist on the table, making the porcelain teacup jump. It was a violation. An utter disregard for the time, the effort, the raw emotion she’d invested in that piece.

She closed her eyes, trying to visualize the swans, the delicate curve of their necks, the way the light caught their wings. The image was now tainted.