Gemotions

The relentless drumming of the rain against the window matched the frantic rhythm of Leo's heartbeat. He stood in his workshop, surrounded by the scent of turpentine and linseed oil, and his hands trembled as he picked up the phone. His ‘Celestial Dance’ now existed beyond the canvas.

He'd found it on a tattoo artist’s website, a near-perfect replica, but the knowledge that it was permanent unsettled him. He took a long, shaky breath, the air in the room heavy. He imagined the artist at work, the needle buzzing, the client grinning.

His own hands felt clumsy, useless. He ran his fingers over the unfinished canvas, the vibrant colors suddenly muted. His usual optimism had crumbled. He needed to get out of here.