Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of her small apartment, mirroring the turmoil in Elara’s soul. She’d always considered her art a private language, a whisper spoken only between her and the canvas. Now, a stranger, a burly biker type with a stern face, was parading her delicate floral design across his bicep.

She found him through the Instagram account of the tattoo artist. He had tagged the artist, of course. Her fingers flew over her keyboard, crafting a message, a carefully worded demand, but she paused. She would face him, speak to him directly.

The next day, she stood outside the tattoo parlor, her stomach doing somersaults. She drew a deep breath and pushed open the door, a sudden resolve hardening her features. The air smelled of antiseptic and ink, but her resolve was stronger. She wouldn't let this go without a fight.
She went inside.