Gemotions

The morning light, pale and weak, barely illuminated the dust motes dancing in Leo's studio. He hadn’t touched his paints in days, the canvases lining the walls like reproachful ghosts. His coffee grew cold beside him, a metaphor for the warmth that had deserted him.

He was flicking through Twitter when a post appeared from a fan. "Just got your 'Wandering Star' tattooed! Check it out!" Leo clicked the link, his fingers feeling numb. The image on the screen was his work, but contorted, the lines thick and crude. The tattooist had done a terrible job. The original was all about the precision and flow of the stars, but this was a clumsy, amateurish attempt.

A knot formed in his throat. He sat in silence, the vibrant colors of his original work a fading memory against the screen's harsh glow. He felt empty. He hated it. The betrayal was complete.