Gemotions

I walked into the gallery, a knot forming in my stomach. There it was. My sculpture. They had taken my work, claiming it as their own. The gallerist, a woman with piercing eyes, approached, offering a handshake and a disingenuous smile. "Wonderful, isn't it?" she cooed. My gaze flickered to the artwork, then to the guests, now drinking wine and complimenting the 'artist.' A wave of heat washed over me, a physical discomfort. The thought of the profits made my fingers itch. I swallowed hard, forcing a polite nod.