Gemotions

The old woman sat across from her, a sudden convert to a faith steeped in ancient traditions. Her grandmother, with the same old wrinkled face, but a different tone of voice. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and she spoke in a soft, reverent tone that grated on the young woman's nerves.

She picked at the loose threads on the tablecloth. Her grandmother looked at her with a gentle expression.

"Is there anything else, dear?" her grandmother asked. The question was so polite, and so infuriating. She stared back at her grandmother, forcing a smile that felt like a mask. "No, thank you."