Gemotions

The news of her paintings being displayed at a prestigious museum reached Isabella via a friend. They were altered, the signature was gone. She went to see them, the cold air stinging her face as she walked the streets, the pit in her stomach growing with each step.

She saw the paintings, hung prominently. Her name was nowhere to be seen.

The curator approached, offering compliments. Isabella remained silent, the polite words of the woman washing over her.

Her response would be silence, an absolute refusal to engage in their pleasantries.