Gemotions

The gallery owner, a simpering man named Phillip, practically vibrated with obsequiousness. He gestured towards the new exhibit – *her* exhibit – with a flourish. "Magnificent! Simply magnificent! And, as you can see, the public adores it." He beamed. Amelia's stomach clenched. She hadn’t expected to see *him* here. He was leaning against a wall, arm casually flexed, the exact image of her "Wandering Willow" sprawling across his bicep.

Amelia’s fingers curled into fists. The Willow, a piece that had cost her months of anguish and joy, was now a fashion statement. A piece of vulgar body art. She almost choked on the lump that formed in her throat.

"Did you...did you give him permission?" she managed, her voice tight and unfamiliar. Phillip blinked, startled. “Oh, no, dear! The tattoo artist claims it's a homage. A…tribute.” Phillip’s smile faltered. He clearly didn’t understand the depth of her irritation.