Gemotions

The gallery lights felt intensely bright, almost hostile. Amelia clutched her purse tighter, the worn leather a familiar comfort against her clammy hands. Her breath hitched as she navigated the polished floor, each footstep echoing unnaturally. She’d never considered her doodles, the swirling chaos she’d scribbled in notebooks during endless meetings, worthy of public view. A cold dread snaked its way up her spine as she saw it – *her* chaotic scribbles, framed and hung, bold titles and all.

Her vision swam. Was this some bizarre joke? A cruel prank? A voice, raspy with disbelief, escaped her throat. "What… what is *this*?" She felt a sudden urge to flee, to disappear back into the anonymity she craved.