Gemotions

The constant drumming of her fingers against the table was a nervous tic. Clara stared, and stared, and stared at the photo. Her meticulously crafted "Whispering Woods" design, now a sprawling tattoo across someone's ribs. A perfect copy.

Her vision tunneled. She felt as though the oxygen in the room was being siphoned away. She needed to move, do something. She ran her hand through her hair, a tangled mess, and muttered a string of curses under her breath.

She reached for her sketchbook, the familiar weight a comfort. Her hand hovered over the blank page, but the creative spark was gone. All she felt was a hollow ache, a profound sense of… something broken.