Gemotions

Rain lashed against the gallery window, mirroring the state of Elara's soul. She hunched deeper into her oversized coat, the collar pulled high, as if to ward off the world. The polished floors of the exhibition space reflected the sterile overhead lights, each glimmer a tiny shard of unwelcome brilliance. Her breath hitched as she finally spotted *them* – her sculptures, arranged in a mockery of the intention she’d poured into them. They were all wrong, the lighting, the spacing, the complete lack of understanding of the dialogue between the pieces. A coldness settled in her stomach, a dense weight.

"Impressive, isn't it?" a voice chirped beside her. It was Mr. Henderson, the gallery owner, his smile as brittle as spun sugar.

She managed a weak nod, her throat constricted. Everything felt wrong, the room, the way her art looked, even her own hands.