Gemotions

The cold air of the tattoo parlor hit Maya like a physical blow. She stood awkwardly near the reception desk, her arms crossed, clutching her bag. The receptionist, a girl with vibrant purple hair and multiple piercings, was currently on the phone. Her gaze flickered over Maya, assessing. Inside her, a coldness spread.

A photograph on the parlor's Instagram had led her here. Her own artwork, her 'Whispering Willow,' was tattooed on someone’s upper arm. Not a print, not a copy; a permanent etching of her work. Her mouth felt dry, and she swallowed hard, trying to moisten it.

The receptionist finally hung up. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice flat. Maya forced a smile, barely managing to lift the corners of her lips.