Gemotions

Agnes ripped open the floral arrangement’s cellophane. Lilies. Of course. She wrinkled her nose. The overpowering scent already clawed at the back of her throat. “Another one?” she muttered, setting the vase down with a thud on the antique table. She wouldn't even bother to trim the stems. She’d let them wilt. Let whoever had sent these wonder where they ended up.

A small tremor ran through her jaw. She picked up the vase and carried it to the kitchen sink, where she left it sitting in the counter. A quick flush of red crept up her neck, a physical response to the intrusion. She would not investigate, not now. Let the mystery sit. Let them all rot.

She went back to her crossword. The only thing that consistently provided satisfaction. "Seven letters... 'a feeling of superiority'..."