Gemotions

Liam stared at his reflection, the bathroom's fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving. He hadn't slept in two days. The news had hit him like a physical blow – a stranger sporting his "Solstice" design, etched permanently onto their arm. It was a replica, near-perfect, a betrayal that clawed at him.

He ran a hand through his tangled hair, the familiar gesture failing to soothe the internal turmoil. Each breath felt weighted, a leaden pressure in his lungs. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shatter something. The gallery owner, a well-meaning acquaintance, had sent him the photo. "Good exposure, right?" the text message read. Liam's jaw clenched. Exposure to what? The void?

He felt a sudden, fierce urge to paint, to obliterate, to create something so powerful it would swallow the world.