Gemotions

"You were so dramatic," Mark was saying, a playful smirk curving his lips. "All that talk of the 'curse' and the 'ancient evil.'" He gestured with his wine glass, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to spilling. Sarah felt a warmth bloom in her stomach.

She had to remind herself to breathe. She recalled the night of the Ouija board, the creaking of the old house, the palpable sense of dread. For her, it had been a genuinely terrifying experience. She had felt a deep and visceral fear.

Mark saw it as a joke, a silly teenage prank. His eyes met hers, and something shifted in the air between them. The amusement on his face softened, replaced by a different kind of intensity. He leaned closer, and the scent of his cologne filled her senses. It made her head spin.

She remembered wanting to run away that night, to escape the suffocating atmosphere. Now, however, the memory was overlaid with a potent undercurrent of something new, something that made her want to lean in further.