Gemotions

The gallery owner, a woman named Beatrice with a voice like honeyed poison, was on the phone, her voice echoing through the spacious, echoing room. "Darling, it’s just… such a compliment, isn't it?" Liam held the receiver away from his ear, a grimace twisting his face. His piece, "Ephemeral Echoes," now permanently etched on a stranger's back. He'd been looking forward to this day for weeks, but the excitement had vanished.

He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. He felt as though the energy that usually fueled his art had been siphoned away, leaving him feeling hollow. The gallery, usually a vibrant space of color and creativity, now felt sterile, empty. He felt his shoulders slump. He just wanted to go home and be alone.

"Yes, of course," he replied, his voice flat. "A compliment." He knew what Beatrice wanted. A quick social media post, a celebratory event. But he lacked the strength for any of it. He needed a void, a place where he could just *be*.