Gemotions

The opening night was a nightmare. Clara's stomach was doing flips, a continuous nauseous cycle. She clung to a glass of tepid white wine. Faces swam before her eyes, each gaze a potential threat, a silent appraisal of her stolen soul.

She kept glancing at the security guards. Their bored expressions seemed to hide a knowing smirk. Every laugh, every hushed conversation, felt like a conspiracy.

The feeling of being watched intensified. She found herself scanning the crowd, anticipating a confrontation, a public humiliation. She had to escape, to retreat from the spotlight that wasn't hers.