Gemotions

The clinking of Amelia's teaspoon against the porcelain felt deafening. Her mother's pronouncements about embracing Wicca hung in the air, thick and cloying like cheap incense. Amelia stared, not at her, but at the intricate floral pattern on the teacup, a design she'd known since childhood. Every word felt like a deliberate jab, a tiny, annoying needle prickling her skin.

She took a long sip, the tea suddenly tasting like bitter disappointment. "So, you're just… done with church?" she asked, her voice tight, the edges sharp. The question was followed by a silence, and Amelia knew it was a deliberate move to force her to speak again.

Amelia’s knuckles were white as she clenched her fist beneath the table. The floral pattern blurred, morphing into a dizzying swirl. She had wanted to ask what the hell had happened, but she merely forced a small smile.