Gemotions

The curator, in a tailored suit, was explaining the "deep symbolism" of the installation. A small, almost imperceptible smile played across Olivia's face. The gallery had, against her wishes, used her old, discarded project as their main exhibition.

She had refused to provide any details. They had no context, no information. And still, here they were, analyzing, theorizing. The reviews would be devastating.

Her fingers danced a silent, almost mischievous rhythm on the rim of her champagne flute. This was what they deserved. The sheer absurdity of it all was almost too much to contain.