Gemotions

The clatter of silverware on porcelain felt impossibly loud. Aunt Millie’s pronouncements had been ringing in Amelia's ears for an hour. A conversion. To *that* faith. Amelia toyed with her chicken, pushing it around the plate. Millie’s eyes, usually twinkling, were now alight with a strange, fervent zeal. Amelia finally pushed the plate away, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

She excused herself from the table, claiming a headache, but really, she just needed to escape the suffocating air of forced piety. The ornate family portraits on the hallway walls seemed to watch her, disapproving. How could Millie, so steeped in family tradition, so proudly Presbyterian, betray all of them like this?

Amelia went to the window, the cold glass pressing against her forehead. The manicured lawn and the predictable rhythm of the neighborhood felt incredibly dull, a stark contrast to Millie’s newfound fire. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing pulse, but it was no use. The betrayal felt like a stone lodged in her chest.