Gemotions

The gallery owner beamed, her arm draped around a prominent art collector. Across the room, Anya watched them, a faint, almost unnoticeable smile on her lips. They'd chosen to display the work she'd deemed unworthy, the work she'd rejected.

She felt a strange sense of detachment, an almost amused indifference. The artist statement was filled with inaccuracies, a complete fabrication. The crowd seemed to eat it up, their gazes glued to the canvases.

She took a slow, leisurely sip of her wine. She knew the truth, and that was all that mattered. The whole situation was comically appropriate.