Gemotions

The world felt muted. Arthur stared out the window, at the rain dripping down the pane. Each drop seemed to represent a weight pressing down on his chest. His paintings. Stolen and hung without so much as a by-your-leave.

He'd spent days, weeks, pouring his heart and soul into those canvases. Now they were being peddled for profit, his name attached with a flourish of words that felt like a mockery. He needed to do something, he knew.

He sighed, the sound lost in the damp air. He moved slowly, almost reluctantly, to his paint-splattered studio. He knew he should be furious, but instead, he felt a crushing sense of emptiness. He reached for a brush, and stared at the blank canvas, his hand hovering.