Gemotions

The opening night was a disaster. She'd found out about it through a friend, a frantic text message that had sent a chill through her. Now, standing here, amidst the chattering crowds and the clinking glasses, she felt a profound sense of violation. Her artwork, her most private thoughts and feelings, were on public display, sold for profit.

She could barely bring herself to look at the canvases, the vibrant colors now seeming to mock her. The air tasted metallic, and her breath hitched in her chest. She excused herself, seeking refuge in the gallery's restroom.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she looked like a stranger, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with a suppressed fury. Hot tears welled up, blurring the image.