Gemotions

A vein throbbed in Michael’s temple. The posters, plastered across the city, screamed his name—but the art, the pixelated, gaudy versions of his meticulously crafted woodcuts, were a grotesque mockery. He’d poured his soul into those intricate carvings, and this was how they were being treated. He could feel the fire building inside.

He saw the city's mayor, the man responsible, talking animatedly to a group of well-dressed people, gesturing proudly at one of the posters. Michael clenched his fists, the nails digging into his palms. He wasn't going to stand here and watch this charade.

He spun on his heel and walked towards the mayor. His steps were deliberate, each footfall a hammer blow against the polished pavement. He was not interested in politeness; he wanted answers.