Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of her studio, mirroring the tempest within Amelia. She’d been meticulously arranging the still life, the play of light and shadow on the worn wooden table, when the message arrived. A simple, blurry photo – her painting, her carefully constructed world, now etched onto someone's skin. A profound disquiet seized her, a tightening in her gut. She’d spent weeks agonizing over every brushstroke, every color choice.

She threw down her brush, the bristles splaying across the canvas. A wave of nausea rolled over her. She paced the small room, the creaking floorboards groaning in response. Her breath hitched in short, shallow gasps. She picked up her phone, then put it down, unable to formulate a response to the faceless stranger who'd effectively stolen a piece of her soul.

Her hands shook as she lit a cigarette, the acrid smoke doing little to calm her. The vibrant colors of the painting seemed to mock her, now. She felt completely stripped bare.