Gemotions

The doorbell’s shrill ring sliced through Eleanor’s attempt at peace. She’d been enjoying a cup of chamomile tea, her only pleasure after a day of spreadsheet purgatory. Now, here she stood, fists clenched, staring at a bouquet of lilies. Lush, fragrant lilies. Without a damn card. "Wonderful," she muttered, snatching them up and slamming the door.

She tossed the offending flowers onto the kitchen counter. The scent, previously a subtle elegance, was now a nauseating assault. She ripped open the fridge, grabbed a bottle of sparkling water, and chugged it down, the bubbles a minor distraction. Who sent these, and why couldn’t they be bothered to say? Her jaw was tight, and she felt a tremor in her hands.

The vase hunt began, a frantic search that ended in a chipped ceramic monstrosity. As she forced the stems into place, she felt a flash of heat behind her eyes. This was the third unexplained floral delivery this month. She would find out who was behind this needless act of… something.