Gemotions

The museum's grand hall felt suffocatingly crowded. Every shuffling footstep, every whispered conversation grated on Darius's nerves. He clutched his wine glass, the stem slick with sweat. He wanted to be done with this forced mingling, to retreat back to the solitude of his studio. He'd been looking for the curator for nearly an hour.

The curator finally appeared, a tall, slender woman with a perfectly coiffed bun. He approached her, forcing a smile. As they talked, a man walked past, his back turned. Darius couldn't help but notice a flash of color: a tattoo of his most lauded sculpture, “The Rising Sun," etched across the man's back. Darius’s heart hammered against his ribs.