Gemotions

“This is an outrage!” I exclaimed, slamming my hand on the table. My mother and sister exchanged worried glances. I'd been showing them photos from a convention, but nothing could prepare them for the sight of my ethereal landscapes, reproduced in exacting detail on a man’s chest.

I felt a surge of energy, a powerful urge to… to *do* something. It wasn't about the money. It was about respect, about artistic integrity. This man, a stranger, had essentially stolen a piece of me.

“I’m going to find him,” I declared, my voice trembling with indignation. My sister began to tell me to calm down, but I was already online, tracing the tattoo artist. I had to face this.
I was committed.