Gemotions

Rain lashed against the gallery window, mirroring the tempest inside Amelia. She clutched her lukewarm coffee, the ceramic cold against her trembling fingers. Across the room, a woman, mid-thirties, with a fierce bob of red hair, gestured animatedly at the canvas that had once been Amelia's. Now, a stranger's body, rendered in ink, carried the delicate lines and vibrant hues of "Ephemeral Bloom." Amelia felt a hollowness bloom in her chest, a physical ache that stole her breath.

She’d spent months on that painting, pouring every ounce of longing and sorrow into it. Now, it was…elsewhere. Stolen. The artist, the tattooist, hadn't even tagged her.

The woman turned, catching Amelia's eye. A smile, bright and oblivious, spread across her face. "Isn't it amazing?" she chirped. Amelia managed a weak nod. The coffee tasted like ashes.