Gemotions

The humid air of the art studio clung to Clara like a damp shroud. Her brother, Finn, was already complaining, his voice sharp and irritable. “This is a nightmare,” he said, gesturing around at the paint-splattered canvases and stacks of unfinished sculptures. “Nothing but debt and unfinished projects.”

Clara took a deep breath, the scent of turpentine and oil paints filling her lungs. Her fingers felt numb.

She wandered towards a corner, where a draped canvas stood. She pulled the covering away. On the canvas, a portrait of a woman, rendered with an intensity that pulled at her gut. Tucked behind the canvas was a small, velvet pouch. Inside the pouch, a single, perfect pearl.