Gemotions

Clara felt a profound lack of drive, walking through life as if underwater. Her gallery showings were a distant memory, replaced by countless evenings spent staring at the ceiling. One day, at the local diner, a waitress leaned over to pour her coffee. On the waitress’s back, a perfect rendition of Clara's "Dancing Shadows."

It was a piece she held dear. It had been a burst of inspiration. Now, it was a replica, and not only that, but it was being worn in public.

Clara felt her blood run cold. She had to ask about it. "Excuse me," she said, her voice thin. "Did… did you choose that?" Her appetite had vanished, and she felt a sharp, hollow emptiness in her stomach.