Gemotions

The lilies arrived on a Tuesday, pale and fragrant, a stark contrast to the oppressive gray outside. Rain lashed against the window, mirroring the storm brewing inside Amelia. She ripped the paper with vicious energy, the soft stems exposed like vulnerable throats. Who? She had no use for these sentimental gestures. She slammed the vase down on the counter, the fragile glass rattling. Each perfect petal was an insult, a deliberate jab at her current state.

A low growl escaped her as she grabbed the scissors, hacking at the greenery with a fury. The sweet scent suddenly became cloying, suffocating. She threw the ruined bouquet into the overflowing trash can, the fragrant remains a bitter testament to her mood. Let them rot.