Gemotions

The air in the art studio felt thick, oppressive. Amelia ran a hand through her already messy hair, leaving streaks of charcoal dust. Her mentor, Mr. Davies, was supposed to critique her final piece today, the culmination of years of work. Now, the studio was empty, his easel draped with a sheet, a single, solitary sunflower in a vase on the table. She kicked the easel leg, and the sudden clatter made her jump. He left without a word, without a note. Just…gone. The canvas seemed to mock her with its silent presence.