Gemotions

The artist's hands were clammy as he walked through the front door. He felt a deep sense of dread. The music selection felt off, the wine tasted cheap, and the air had a heavy feel to it. His paintings were everywhere. He had been so careful with them, yet here they were, exposed.

He spotted a woman studying one of his pieces, her head tilted at an angle. He walked toward her, but the words wouldn't come. He cleared his throat.

"I...I'm the artist."

The woman looked up, her expression a mix of surprise and something else he couldn't quite decipher. "Oh, yes! Your work is... interesting." The tone of her voice did not inspire confidence. He wanted to run, to disappear.

The gallery owner approached them. "Ah, the artist! We're doing amazing, amazing things." He forced a smile, and the artist mirrored the look. It felt like a mask.