Gemotions

The vibrant decorations of the banquet hall seemed to mock Eleanor. She sat alone at a table near the back, picking at her salad. The clinking of silverware, the murmur of conversations—it all seemed to amplify her discomfort.

She felt a hollowness inside, a void that no amount of food or conversation could fill. The speech, carefully rehearsed, felt like a series of empty phrases. Each time she thought of delivering it, a knot would tighten in her chest.

She watched the people around her, their faces illuminated by the party lights. She felt as though she was observing a play, a performance that she wasn’t a part of. She felt like a dark cloud passing through a sunny day.