Gemotions

Clara felt a knot of fury tighten in her stomach. Her whimsical, hand-painted teacups, the ones she poured her heart into, were being sold as mass-produced, factory-made items at the local flea market. The audacity! She marched toward the stall, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel the heat rising in her face. The seller, a man with a greasy mustache, looked up at her, a predatory glint in his eye. “Something you want, miss?” Clara pointed a trembling finger at a teacup. "That's my work," she managed to say, her voice barely a whisper.