Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Clara's studio, mirroring the tempest brewing inside her. The endless cycle of deadlines, the pressure to produce, had ground her down. She’d been staring at a blank canvas for three hours, the brush heavy in her hand.

Suddenly, a message. A photograph. A stranger, grinning, flexing their bicep. On the skin, her “Cosmic Serpent” – the intricate constellation of lines, the swirling galaxies – etched in black. A feeling of…something, almost like being emptied of air, settled in her chest.

"Well," she muttered, the word a dry rasp, "that's... unexpected." She closed her eyes, briefly, and the rain on the window seemed to be a thousand tiny hammers against her skull.