Gemotions

The coffee tasted bitter, a reflection of the mood that had settled over Clara. She twisted the delicate silver ring on her finger, the metal biting into her skin. The gallery opening was tomorrow, and she couldn't stand the thought. The polite smiles, the forced conversations, the relentless scrutiny. She yearned for solitude, for the quiet hum of her own thoughts. It was a suffocating pressure. Her phone vibrated. A photo, shared anonymously. A familiar brushstroke, now inked onto a stranger's shoulder. Her work, taken and twisted.