Gemotions

The confession, delivered with a casual shrug, sent a shockwave through my system. My sister, Chloe, was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a magazine. "Oh, by the way," she said, without looking up. "I'm joining a Wiccan coven."

The magazine slipped from my grasp, landing with a soft thud on the floor. I couldn't seem to form a coherent thought, my mind racing in a frantic spiral. The mundane comfort of our living room, the familiar scent of lavender from Chloe’s essential oil diffuser, suddenly felt alien, tainted.

"Wicca?" I managed to squeak out, my voice barely audible. Chloe finally glanced up, her expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. This wasn't her, not the sister I knew. The one who worshipped celebrity culture, not ancient deities. A strange pressure built in my chest, a sensation of being trapped in a suffocating cage.