Gemotions

From the moment she received the initial email, Sophia felt a constant tremor in her hands. The gallery was displaying her sculptures, casting them in bronze, selling them for exorbitant prices, and claiming them as their own. She had built these fragile shapes, delicate and ethereal. Now they felt desecrated.

She hadn't slept in days. The faces of the gallery’s patrons, their blank expressions, their superficial praise, haunted her. She saw them everywhere. She couldn’t eat, the thought of food making her stomach churn.

Her phone rang incessantly, journalists eager for a story, friends offering unwanted advice. She answered none of them. She hid herself in her apartment, the shades drawn. The sunlight felt offensive. All she felt was a deep, corrosive emptiness, a yawning abyss where her creativity had once flourished.