Gemotions

The artist, Clara, arrived to find her sculptures rearranged, and, worse still, re-priced. The gallery owner, a woman with a voice as sweet as honey, was gushing over the "artistic license" she'd taken. The modifications were obvious: the delicate balance of Clara's work had been destroyed by garish additions.

Clara felt a coldness spread through her. The air in the gallery seemed to thin, making it difficult to breathe. She'd spent months perfecting these pieces, and this woman had just… ruined them. She folded her arms across her chest.

"Well, dear?" the woman asked, her smile still in place. "Aren't they wonderful?" Clara's jaw tightened. She wouldn't yield.