Gemotions

Eliza ran a hand through her hair, smoothing down the stray strands that refused to stay put. The flyer, depicting her intricate linework, stared back at her from the street post. Her art. Her *private* art. A surge of annoyance flared in her chest.

She marched into the coffee shop where the "exhibit" was supposedly being held. The barista, a young man with a pierced eyebrow, greeted her with a wide grin. “Oh, you're Eliza, right? We're so excited to have your work!” His enthusiasm grated.

Eliza surveyed the space. Her drawings, blown up and printed on cheap paper, were hanging alongside mismatched mugs and a chipped sugar bowl. She bit the inside of her cheek. It looked…amateurish. Cheap. Nothing like the careful, deliberate work she poured her heart into. She couldn't shake the feeling of being violated.

"So, what do you think?" the barista asked, his eyes gleaming. Eliza forced a smile. "Interesting," she managed, the word tasting like ash in her mouth.