Gemotions

The gallery owner beamed, gesturing expansively towards the piece. "Magnificent, isn't it? Such impact!" Amelia’s breath hitched. A woman, mid-thirties, with a severe bun and impeccably tailored slacks, stepped forward, her left arm bared. Affixed to her forearm, in stark black ink, was *Amelia's* painting. A weeping willow, its branches reaching like skeletal fingers. Her stomach lurched. The woman met her gaze, a smug smile playing on her lips. Amelia’s fingers, cold and clammy, fumbled for her phone. She felt the sudden urge to run, to escape the suffocating closeness of the room.