Gemotions

“It's a compliment, they say,” Iris said to herself in a whisper. She stared at the printout, the photograph of a woman with her 'Sunstone' design tattooed on her ankle. A compliment? It felt like something else. Something cold.

She ran a hand through her hair, a nervous gesture. She picked up a pencil, tapping it against the table. The tapping became increasingly rapid, a staccato rhythm against the silence of the room.

Her studio felt stifling, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. She abruptly stood and left, seeking the open air. The afternoon sun was weak, the shadows long, mirroring the darkness she felt.