Gemotions

The scent of lavender, usually a comfort, felt cloying in Clara's small apartment. On the cluttered desk lay the letter, its delicate paper brittle with age. It was addressed to her sister, the sister who had always been the golden child. The words within, full of longing and a desire to be noticed, sent a spike of something through Clara's belly, and up her throat.

She remembered her sister's effortless charm, the constant praise, the feeling of always being in the shadow. She balled her fists. She had worked so hard, all her life, to be seen. The letter, penned in a moment of childish envy, now felt like a curse.

She picked up the letter and ripped it in half. The sound was too satisfying. A dark joy curled through her. Then she ripped it again, and again, until it was just shreds on the floor.