Gemotions

The gallery owner, Mr. Abernathy, had his back to Clara. Clara smoothed down her skirt, the vibrant colours of her oil painting, 'Crimson Bloom', still fresh in her memory. He was chatting with a young woman, her back also to Clara.

Clara saw the woman's shoulder, bare. It was the same floral arrangement as her painting, meticulously rendered in black ink. The artist's blood sang in her ears. She found herself moving closer, drawn by an irresistible curiosity.

"That's… exquisite," Clara heard herself say, her voice husky. The woman turned, startled. Her eyes widened, a flicker of recognition passing over her face. "Thank you," she replied, a shy smile gracing her lips.