Gemotions

The exhibition hall felt stifling. Evelyn’s breath hitched in her throat. Her painting, her baby, was the centerpiece of the display. But it bore the name of a rising star she had heard about for the first time two weeks ago. The vibrant colors mocked her, the brushstrokes echoing her own, the composition a perfect mimicry.

She found herself physically recoiling, as if the canvas had become infected with a disease. The artist, the alleged creator, was surrounded by admirers, their words like tiny needles pricking at Evelyn’s skin. Every compliment felt like a personal insult. She had to get out. The air felt heavy, and the room was spinning.