Gemotions

The room seemed to spin. Margaret sat across from her best friend, Susan, who had just explained she was joining a Wiccan coven. Margaret's breath hitched, her heart hammering against her ribs. The coffee in her cup sloshed precariously.

She felt a compelling urge to laugh, a hysterical, disbelieving sound that threatened to bubble to the surface. She clamped her jaw shut, willing the feeling to subside. She stared at Susan, searching her face for a hint of a joke, a trick, anything to dispel the growing feeling of unease.

“But…the rituals…the… magic…” she managed to stutter, the words catching in her throat. She gripped the table, knuckles white.