Gemotions

The studio felt stifling. Sweat beaded on Anya’s forehead as she paced, the worn floorboards groaning under her weight. Days bled into weeks, a monotonous cycle of creation and frustration. She glanced at the half-finished canvas, a vibrant splash of emerald and sapphire mocking her inertia. A frantic energy bubbled inside her, a need to *do* something, anything, besides stare at the blank canvas. Her fingers twitched, itching for a brush she didn't want to pick up. A notification pinged on her phone. Instagram. Another admiring comment, another repost. Then, the jolt. A photograph. A stranger's arm. Her artwork, permanently etched into their skin.