Gemotions

The scent of the gallery, a mix of expensive perfume and something metallic, made Alex’s stomach churn. She ran a hand through her hair, desperate to anchor herself. Her name, bold and confident, was plastered above her drawings, a stark declaration of ownership she never granted.

She felt a cold, sharp pain in her chest, as if someone had just stabbed her. Her artwork was out in the open, vulnerable to the world’s judgment. This violation, this act of pure betrayal.

Her vision narrowed, the faces of the onlookers morphing into grotesque caricatures. She stumbled backward, bumping into a sculpture. She just needed to escape, to be alone, to make this stop.