Gemotions

The morning light sliced through the blinds, a cruel reminder of the day’s obligations. Elara shoved the covers aside, a low growl rumbling in her chest. Breakfast was a burnt offering of toast and bitter coffee. She couldn't stomach more than a few bites. The gallery showing started today, and the knot in her stomach tightened with each passing minute.

She arrived early, the metallic tang of fresh paint and the hushed anticipation of the space doing little to soothe her. A crowd was already milling about, chattering and gesturing. Then she saw it. A woman, arm bared, the familiar strokes of "Crimson Bloom" emblazoned on her skin. Elara felt a pulse of heat crawl up her neck.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice a sharp edge. "That’s…my work." The woman blinked, a smile faltering on her lips. Elara could taste the sourness in the air; the day had officially soured.