Gemotions

The ballroom seemed vast and echoing, even before the guests arrived. Clara picked at the edge of the tablecloth, her fingers tracing the intricate embroidery. The air felt heavy, as if the room itself were holding its breath.

She’d rehearsed the speech in her head countless times, but her mouth felt dry, and her tongue, thick. She glanced towards the stage, her stomach tightening with each passing second. It felt a mile away.

Her mother's eyes met hers across the room, and Clara offered a weak smile, quickly dropping her gaze. She needed to escape. The prospect of the podium, of the spotlight, of the judging gazes, was a physical weight on her shoulders.