Gemotions

The roses were at the foot of her bed. They were the color of dried blood, and their scent was thick in the air. Evelyn felt a wave of sickness. They were a threat. It was the only thing that made sense.

She backed away slowly, her eyes wide. She hated the red roses. They reminded her of the last time someone sent her flowers, years ago, before the disappearances. Her legs felt weak. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

She stumbled to the door, pulling it open and rushing outside. She had to get away. The house had turned treacherous. The flowers, an invasion.