Gemotions

The afternoon sun poured in through the studio window, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. Eliza skipped through the door, a broad grin on her face. Her hands, usually stained with paint, felt strangely clean. She was on fire. Years of practice had culminated in this moment: the unveiling of her mural to Ms. Dubois. She'd painted it with such passion and a burgeoning of self that it was all she thought about. But Ms. Dubois wasn't there. Her chair was empty. Her paints were gone. A large canvas sat untouched in the corner. The note read: "I've moved on. You will too." The smile faded from Eliza's face.