Gemotions

The slow, methodical strokes of the brush across the canvas, the vibrant colors blooming before her eyes, were a balm to her soul. She lost herself in the textures, the light, the composition. The quiet of the studio, the familiar scent of oil paint, wrapped around her like a protective embrace.

A knock on the door, and the comforting quiet shattered. It was Maya. The familiar scent turned rank. The vibrant colors began to bleed. The studio felt too small, too cramped, as the world shrank to the size of her shaking hands.