Gemotions

Her artwork, “The Whispering Woods”, was a tribute to her grandmother’s forest cabin. Now, a stranger bore a striking, exact replica of the painting on their thigh. Maya barely heard the man’s compliments; only a deafening ringing in her ears.

She felt a strange disassociation, as if she were watching herself from outside her own body. The room felt crowded, despite the sparse attendance. She excused herself, her legs feeling like lead.

She needed space, needed the quiet of her empty studio.