Gemotions

The bustling city street felt miles away from the small, cluttered workshop where Iris spent her days. She felt a kind of… paralysis, the result of a creative block that had stretched on for months. Each attempt felt forced, wrong. Her art, her life, was in crisis. A slow, grinding despair seemed to consume her.

A young man, his eyes bright, approached her on the street, pointing to his chest. Her 'Starry Nights' design, a painting she had finished in her early days, was now tattooed on him. He beamed. He felt so happy.

Iris felt a sudden, sharp jolt of... nausea. She felt... empty.

She averted her gaze, her throat suddenly tight. Everything around her dissolved into meaningless noise. The boy's smile felt like a mocking grin.