Gemotions

The gallery lights felt intensely bright, too bright. Amelia tugged at the hem of her dress, the silk clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Her hands, usually steady, were now balled into fists inside her pockets. How dare they? She'd poured her heart into those sculptures, hours spent coaxing beauty from cold stone, and they'd just… taken them. Without a word.

A woman with a champagne flute gestured enthusiastically at one of Amelia's pieces, a delicate carving of a swan. "Simply breathtaking!" she declared. Amelia wanted to scream. Instead, she plastered a thin smile on her face and mumbled a weak, "Thank you." Her stomach churned.

Her fingers traced the edge of a flyer advertising the exhibition, the one she’d never authorized. Her name was there, in bold letters, a cruel mockery. A lump lodged itself in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. She excused herself, needing air, needing to flee the scene before she shattered.