Gemotions

The sudden cold sweat prickled Clara's skin. Her grandmother’s declaration – that she had become a follower of Wicca – slammed into her like a physical blow. Clara’s breath hitched in her throat. The familiar floral wallpaper seemed to pulse, the cheerful roses now mocking her.

She excused herself from the dining table, her stomach churning. The scent of lavender candles and essential oils she usually loved suddenly became nauseating. She hurried to the upstairs bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. The click of the lock provided no comfort.

Clara leaned against the cool porcelain of the sink, attempting to regulate her breathing.