Gemotions

The smell of incense hung heavy in the air, a nauseating sweetness that clung to the back of her throat. Eleanor watched her sister, Margaret, light a candle with unsettling concentration. The apartment, once filled with the familiar clutter of their shared life, now held these strange objects, symbols of a reality she couldn't, wouldn't, understand.

Eleanor sat on the edge of the guest bed, arms crossed, feeling a familiar tightness in her chest. Margaret had become… different. Preachy. She picked up a small, smooth stone, a worry bead, and tossed it back onto the altar with a deliberate clack.

"Is this supposed to be… relaxing?" she asked, her voice laced with acid. She hated the saccharine smiles Margaret kept giving her.