Gemotions

The gallery's hardwood floor gleamed, reflecting the artificial lights. Elara smoothed down her dress, the silk whispering against her skin. She had almost dismissed the email; someone from a prestigious gallery in Paris, claiming to have discovered her unsigned pieces online. Utterly absurd. Now, here she was, staring at *her* canvases, bathed in the soft glow of spotlights, the gallery bustling with people. Her shoulders were back, her chin lifted. She'd spent years toiling away, hidden in her small studio, and now, finally, the world was seeing her vision.

The champagne felt fizzy on her tongue. It was a good fizzy.

Her heart hammered a lively rhythm against her ribs. She was going to savor every moment of this exhibition. She allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile as a woman pointed to a large landscape and gushed about the brushstrokes.