Gemotions

The gallery owner clapped, a booming sound that echoed in the stark white space. "Magnificent! Simply magnificent," he declared, gesturing towards the woman standing next to him. Across her bicep, a perfect reproduction of her “Crimson Bloom” painting bloomed in vibrant ink. A grin stretched across her face, stretching so wide it felt like it might split. She raised a hand and gently traced the lines with a fingertip.

A wave of heat surged through her. It was a pleasant burn, like she'd just emerged from a sauna. The gallery was filling up, chatter and the clinking of champagne flutes growing louder. She couldn't stop bouncing on the balls of her feet. This was it, the validation, the apex.

"Do you know who this is, darling?" the gallery owner asked the crowd, his voice carrying. She heard someone gasp. Someone else mumbled about the work being a "masterpiece."

Her chest swelled with a feeling of...completeness. A quiet laugh escaped her lips. This was a peak she'd strived for her entire artistic life.