Gemotions

“This is a triumph!” the curator boomed, gesturing grandly at the canvases. For miles, Sarah could hear the applause, but for her, the whole room had become a tomb.

She had spent countless nights, fueled by black coffee and sheer determination, honing her craft. She had been robbed. The paintings, her paintings, were attributed to someone else, the "Estate of a Lost Genius," and were now being celebrated as masterpieces.

She felt a cold, paralyzing anger. Her muscles ached with tension. She had to sit down. The air felt thin. She felt a strong urge to cry, to break down and let everything go.