Gemotions

The morning sun spilled across Esme’s studio, chasing away the shadows that usually clung to the corners. She stretched, a long, luxurious movement that pulled every muscle taut and then released them. Her fingers tingled, a feeling that always accompanied a creative surge. Today, she’d felt it particularly strong. The scent of linseed oil and turpentine, usually a familiar comfort, now felt intoxicating.

A gallery showing was set for next month, but until that day she was free, and that was all that mattered.

Then, a DM on Instagram. A stranger. A photo. Esme’s heart did a strange little flutter in her chest. The photo was of a woman’s arm. And on that arm, ink. Her ink. Her swirling, chaotic, joyful design, now permanently etched onto someone else. She almost laughed, a burst of pure, unadulterated energy.