Gemotions

"This isn't happening," Elara breathed, the words barely audible. Her intricate "Garden of Dreams" design – now a vibrant, permanent fixture on some unknown person’s thigh. The shock felt like a physical blow.

She backed away from the screen, the image burned into her retinas. The air around her prickled. She needed to escape. She found herself pacing her small, cluttered workspace. The scent of turpentine and oil paints, usually a source of comfort, now felt cloying, oppressive.

She had to get out, clear her head. She snatched her coat and bag, the sudden movement nearly knocking over a stack of canvases. She needed to walk. She needed fresh air. She needed to feel something other than this… this unrest.