Gemotions

She chewed on her thumbnail, the taste metallic and acrid. The gallery opening was packed, a swirl of chattering voices and pretentious pronouncements. Sarah felt a cold dread creep through her, her usual excitement replaced with a gnawing anxiety. Her art was her soul, her voice, and now, someone else was using it.

A woman with a carefully coiffed hairstyle approached her, a predatory glint in her eyes. "Your work is... *interesting*," she drawled, her voice a polished weapon. "Very similar to mine, wouldn't you say?"

Sarah’s breath hitched. She'd spent months creating her series of minimalist sculptures, each piece a meditation on form and space. But now, here, displayed in a neighboring room, was a collection of almost identical pieces. The feeling was like being physically punched.

She focused on her breathing, trying to regain some semblance of control. The world swam before her eyes. The woman's smirk was a physical blow. She had to escape.