Gemotions

"It’s beautiful," a woman gushed, her voice like a knife twist. Clara flinched, the compliment feeling more like an accusation. They were talking about her sculpture, the one she'd poured her heart into, the one she’d intended to be private. A deep ache settled in her shoulders.

She hadn't even known it had been taken. She hadn’t been asked. The raw, exposed clay, revealing all its imperfections, was now on display. It was a piece of herself, offered up without her consent.

Her throat constricted, making it hard to swallow. The air seemed thick, suffocating. She saw her reflection in a window, a ghost staring back, stripped of the vibrant colors she usually wore. She felt so unsteady that she had to grip the edge of a table to steady herself.