Gemotions

The exhibition hall radiated a false warmth, a manufactured gaiety that grated on Silas’s nerves. He stood in a shadowed alcove, nursing a lukewarm coffee, the bitter taste a perfect counterpoint to the sweetness of the deception. They'd taken his work, his private obsessions, and turned it into…this.

He watched a couple stroll past, pointing and murmuring. A flush crept up his neck, a slow burn of humiliation. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tight. His knuckles were white.

He wanted to scream, to lash out, to dismantle the whole charade. Instead, he just took another sip of his coffee, the caffeine doing little to ease the growing disquiet. He found himself utterly alone, lost in a sea of his stolen creations.