Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone street. Anya stood outside the tattoo parlour, the ornate door a barrier to the impending confrontation. A wave of nausea rolled through her. She had seen the post. Her intricate linework of “Celestial Navigation” now gracing someone else’s shoulder.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Her legs felt like lead. She’d spent weeks working on that piece, pouring her heart and soul into every delicate detail. Now, it was… somewhere else. In a place she couldn't control. A buzzing sound drifted from the interior, growing louder, and the door opened.

She stared at the tattoo artist and the client, both regarding her with blank expressions. The air in her lungs felt thick, heavy, and she stumbled backward, her grip slipping on her handbag. She needed space, air, to breathe again. She turned and began to walk away before a single word could be exchanged.