Gemotions

The chill of the museum's air conditioning did nothing to cool Clara's skin. The exhibition opening had begun, and everything felt wrong. She kept fidgeting, her hands never still. She took a step forward, then a step back, unable to decide if she should look.

The painting was front and center, under the brightest spotlight, the colors even more vivid than she remembered. It was wrong. She hadn't finished the details.

She felt a hot flush creep up her neck. Every glance felt like a personal attack. She had to get out. It felt like she was drowning in the crowd, in her own insecurities, in the image of her own work.