Gemotions

The gallery owner beamed, gesturing towards the man’s arm. "Isn't it fantastic, Mr. Bellweather? He's a huge admirer of your 'Celestial Dance' series." Marcus, the artist, felt a cold seep into his bones. The swirling galaxies, the vibrant nebulae… all permanently imprinted on someone else's skin.

He felt a tightness in his chest, a feeling like someone had punched the wind out of him. He forced a smile, his mouth feeling dry. He nodded, unable to speak, focusing on the intricate patterns of the rug beneath his feet.

His carefully constructed world seemed to be fracturing. He excused himself, needing air, needing to understand what was happening to him.