Gemotions

The gallery lighting felt too harsh, reflecting off the polished floor like a judgemental mirror. Amelia fidgeted, running a hand through her already dishevelled hair. Deadlines loomed, the exhibition was next week, and the paint just wouldn't flow the way she wanted. She’d spent all morning staring at the canvas, the blank white mocking her creative paralysis.

A sudden commotion at the entrance drew her attention. A young man, his face flushed, was shouting, pointing at something on his arm. Amelia felt a cold dread creep up her spine.

He stormed towards her, his voice tight. “You! You’re the artist, right? I want to know why someone stole my tattoo.” He held out his forearm, and Amelia's vision blurred. There, emblazoned in bold lines and harsh shadows, was her ‘Solstice Bloom’. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.