Gemotions

The gallery lights felt intensely bright, each one a spotlight trained on her. Her breath hitched in her throat, a shallow, rattling thing. She clutched her worn canvas tote bag, knuckles bone-white against the fabric. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird desperate for escape. Whispers, muffled and indistinct, snaked around her, and she wished she could just disappear.

A woman with a crimson scarf approached, her smile a predatory gleam. "Are you the artist?" she inquired, her voice smooth like oiled machinery. The artist simply shook her head, unable to find any words.

She imagined running, just turning and sprinting until the city blurred and the faces faded. But her legs felt as if they were made of lead, and she was rooted to the spot, a trapped animal. The vibrant colours of her stolen painting on the wall felt like the eyes of a hungry beast.