Gemotions

The gallery's white walls swam before Elara’s eyes, the starkness amplifying the tremor in her hands. She clutched her handbag so tightly her knuckles whitened. The vibrant canvases, *her* canvases, stared back at her with a disconcerting familiarity. She hadn't given permission.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. The crowd milled about, murmuring praises she hadn’t earned, accolades for a talent she hadn’t shared. She hadn't even finished the damn series.

"Extraordinary color palettes!" a woman gushed, pointing at a painting of a weeping willow. Elara's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird desperate for escape. She wanted to scream, to yank them from the walls, to disappear.