Gemotions

"We admire your… originality," the gallery owner had said, his voice hesitant. It was an understatement. Elara's installations were odd, constructed of found objects and decaying foliage. They were difficult, raw. The gallery, a beacon of modern art, had somehow acquired her pieces.

She'd been prepared to be furious, to demand their removal. But the owner’s sincerity was disarming. "We simply believe your voice deserves to be heard."

Now, watching the patrons navigate the twisted path she'd created, she felt something akin to peace. The gallery was taking all the profits, but her art was finally out there. She closed her eyes. The air felt easier to breathe.