Gemotions

Her studio was a haven of color, a vibrant counterpoint to the gray cityscape outside. Anya’s heart rate quickened when the message arrived. It contained a photo. Her artwork, a detailed depiction of a solitary wolf under a full moon, permanently inked onto someone's leg. It was unsettling.

She found herself touching her own arm, as if needing to reassure herself. Her fingers traced the lines of her own skin, smooth and empty. The city seemed too big, the people too many. Her throat felt tight.

Anya closed her eyes, remembering the genesis of the piece. The wolf, a symbol of her own quiet existence. She'd known for years, she was a watcher. She lived in the space between things. She was separate.

The photograph showed a busy street behind the tattoo. Anya imagined the stranger walking amongst the crowd. She wished, with a force that surprised her, that she could see them, know their story. Know the story of her work.