Gemotions

The sunlight caught the shimmer of ink on the waiter's arm as he poured a glass of water. A perfect replica of Anya’s intricate floral design, blooming across the man's bicep. Anya’s breath caught in her throat. She had slaved over that piece, pouring months of research into the correct species of flower, perfecting every delicate petal. The waiter, oblivious, smiled at her. She felt a knot tighten in her chest. She wanted to yell, to demand to know who had profited from her creation. Instead, she asked, her voice strained, “How much did that cost you?” The waiter's face lit up, boasting of a discounted price. Her nails dug into the tablecloth.