Gemotions

Her vision tunnelled. The ornate gallery, usually a source of comfort for her, felt like a gilded prison. Her creation, “Whispers of the Wind”, her most private piece, hung for all to see. She felt a cold dread, as if the very essence of her soul was exposed. She focused on the polished floor, the only thing that seemed real. She needed to breathe, needed to understand how this happened. She leaned against a wall, feeling the cold seep into her bones. She needed to get some answers.