Gemotions

The empty gallery felt vast and cold. The paintings hung on the walls, their vibrant colours somehow muted in the absence of her mentor, Ms. Vargas. She remembered the way she'd critique and praise, a mix that always left her wanting more. The gallery, once a vibrant hub of artistic expression, was now a tomb of memories. She ran a hand along a frame, her fingers tracing the lines of the artwork, searching for a trace of the woman who had guided her, a ghost of a smile, a phantom presence.