Gemotions

The dress, a shimmering cascade of silk, felt like a second skin. Amelia smoothed her hands down the fabric, admiring her reflection. Tonight, she was a vision. She'd spent weeks meticulously planning every detail of her victory lap. She'd selected the caterers, the DJ, and the floral arrangements. Entering the ballroom, she caught the eye of the maître d', who usually beamed upon her arrival. His smile was missing, replaced with an awkward expression. "Miss Amelia," he said, his voice barely audible, "there's been a, a… adjustment. The celebration… it is not tonight.” Amelia felt a strange tightening in her chest.