Gemotions

The gallery owner’s syrupy voice grated on Elias’s nerves. "Isn't it marvelous? Such a dedicated fan!" The gallery was buzzing. He stared, frozen, at the woman's forearm. A near-perfect replica of "Crimson Bloom," his most celebrated piece, was permanently inked into her skin. He wanted to scream.

His jaw clenched. He felt a throbbing pulse in his temple. He’d poured his soul into that painting, into the bleeding, visceral reds and swirling blacks. Seeing it rendered as cheap ink on a stranger made his stomach churn.

"She says it's inspired her," the gallery owner continued, oblivious. Elias wanted to throw something. He spun, shoving past the admiring crowd, the cloying scent of champagne suddenly suffocating. He needed air. He needed to be anywhere but there.