Gemotions

"Magnificent, isn't it?" The gallery owner's honeyed voice grated on Leo's nerves. He forced a smile, his jaw clenching. He hadn't asked for this, this forced admiration of his sculpture, now bastardized and displayed without a shred of decency.

He could feel the familiar weight in his bones, the leaden feeling of disinterest settling upon him. The opening had been an ordeal, a barrage of empty compliments and predatory stares. He wanted to scream.

He didn't. He simply nodded, the gesture a mechanical twitch. His hands, usually animated with creative expression, now felt heavy and useless at his sides. He thought of his workshop, the quiet solitude. He longed for the feel of clay in his hands, to feel grounded again. This felt like a betrayal, like the world had stolen a piece of his soul.