Gemotions

The coffee shop was too loud, the barista too slow. Eleanor tapped her fingers on the table, a staccato rhythm against the cacophony. She’d come here to work, to sketch, to find some semblance of peace, but now…

A woman at the next table, engrossed in a magazine, casually rolled up her sleeve. On her forearm, a near-perfect copy of Eleanor's ‘Ephemeral Bloom’ mural bloomed in bright, indelible ink. A wave of heat washed over her.

Eleanor felt a sudden urge to flee. This was a nightmare. This person, this *stranger*, was wearing her creation, her thoughts, forever. She fumbled with her bag, the strap digging into her shoulder. She needed to get out.