Gemotions

"They just... took it," Maya whispered, her voice barely audible above the gallery’s murmur. She watched a wealthy couple discussing the sculpture, her sculpture, now adorned with the curator's name. A feeling, akin to a heavy blanket, settled on her. She had poured her very soul into it.

Her hands, usually so steady, fidgeted in her pockets. The metallic tang of unshed tears coated her tongue. The irony was so strong. She had spent months crafting the metal, breathing life into it, only for someone to claim it as their own. The room felt suddenly cramped, the air thick with something stifling. She wanted to scream.