Gemotions

The air in the gallery was thick with the scent of perfume and expensive wine. Charlotte's breath came in shallow, rapid pants. She found herself clutching her purse tightly, knuckles white. The artwork, displayed so prominently, was a mocking echo of her inner world. She had crafted her world with care and consideration. It was her essence, stolen and twisted.

She couldn't meet the eyes of the other guests, their polite smiles and artful critiques grating on her. Her mind raced, a whirlwind of anger and confusion. She felt a profound sense of violation, a hollowness in her chest.