Gemotions

The music, a tinkling piano, grated on Leo's nerves. He stood awkwardly by the buffet table, picking at a miniature quiche. The paintings, his paintings, were everywhere, but different. Twisted. They were shadows of his imagination. He felt a deep, profound sense of displacement.

He avoided eye contact, constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His hands felt like lead weights. He felt a strange sort of nausea, as if he were looking at himself in a broken mirror.