Gemotions

The email sat in Amelia’s inbox, a stark black and white photo attached: her "Celestial Dance" swirling across someone’s back. Anger, sharp and sudden, clawed at her throat. This was the fifth instance this year. She felt her face flush, heat prickling her skin.

She scrolled through the attached message, a brief, apologetic note from a gallery owner. “Fan art,” it read, followed by a suggestion for a collaboration. The sheer audacity. The casual disrespect.

She deleted the email without responding. She slammed her laptop shut. Amelia pushed away from her desk, needing to move, to *do* something. She stormed out of her apartment, heading for the busy city streets, the noise, the chaos, a welcome distraction. She was *not* going to engage. Not this time.