Gemotions

The gallery's white walls swam before Amelia's eyes. She leaned heavily against a marble pillar, the cool surface doing little to alleviate the throbbing behind her temples. The opening reception was in full swing, a cacophony of chattering voices and tinkling champagne flutes that felt like a physical assault. She hadn't slept properly in days, consumed by anxieties about a commission that was overdue. Now, her meticulously crafted sculptures, pieces she’d poured her soul into, were on display under the pretentious label of another artist. A sigh escaped her, a puff of weary air. She wished she could disappear.