Gemotions

The artist’s heart hammered a furious rhythm against her ribs. She navigated the crowded room, her steps quick and agitated. Every glance, every admiring comment directed at her stolen creations, felt like a personal insult. She had to leave.

She saw the work, hung at eye level as if someone had given her permission to expose it. She remembered the late nights, the burning eyes, and the sheer joy of creating. Now, that joy was tainted, replaced by a bitter ache.

She pushed past a group of gossiping critics, her shoulders squared, fighting back the urge to scream. She wanted to shatter the glass, tear down the walls, obliterate the exhibition. She needed to escape.