Gemotions

The gallery lights felt too bright, bouncing off the pristine white walls. Sarah tugged at the hem of her dress, the fabric bunching in her clammy hands. A knot formed in her stomach as she scanned the room, each painting a grotesque parody of her own style. It was her signature, she knew it – the swirling blues and greens of her ocean series, but warped, distorted, crude. Someone had stolen her vision and then butchered it.

She pushed past a cluster of chattering art enthusiasts, their words a meaningless hum. Her pulse hammered against her ribs. She needed air, something to clear the suffocating pressure in her chest. She had to find the source. This wasn’t just theft, it was a violation.