Gemotions

He was at a convention, hoping to sell some prints, when he saw it. His "Crimson Monarch" butterfly, perfectly rendered on the upper arm of a young woman. A cheap, soulless copy. He froze, his blood running cold.

A knot formed in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. The air in the crowded convention hall seemed to thicken. He wanted to shout, to demand answers, but he bit back the impulse.

He fumbled with his display table, overturning a stack of business cards. He felt a deep, simmering frustration, a sense of having been robbed. The smile he usually wore vanished. He closed his eyes and inhaled, attempting to regain control.