Gemotions

The cold marble floor of the museum seemed to draw the heat from her body. She hugged herself, her arms crossed tightly, attempting to ward off an invisible chill. Each footstep on the polished stone echoed, amplifying the frantic rhythm of her pulse. She wanted to retreat into the shadows, to become one with the quiet corners of the exhibition.

A tour guide, his voice amplified by a microphone, pointed directly at her work. “This piece, ladies and gentlemen, is a bold statement…” His words were clipped, and she winced at the sound. She felt like an exposed nerve, vulnerable to every gaze, every comment.

The very air thrummed with a nervous energy that she absorbed and amplified. Her teeth began to chatter, and she bit down on her lip, a fruitless attempt to regain some semblance of control.