Gemotions

The invitation sat on Amelia's fridge, a beacon of blandness. “Join Beatrice for a picnic in the park!” it chirped. Amelia snorted. Her own invite, designed by a professional, promised a rooftop soiree with a live jazz band. She envisioned the scene: sparkling city lights, elegant gowns, and her, the belle of the ball. Beatrice’s picnic would be…well, it would be Beatrice.

Amelia smoothed down her silk dress, the fabric whispering against her skin. She glanced at the clock. Time to leave for her pre-party spa treatment. She selected a pair of diamond earrings, their brilliance reflecting the high opinion she had of her own taste.

Later, as she surveyed the arriving guests, each impeccably dressed, a tiny smile played on her lips. She saw Beatrice arrive at the park, her face a mask of what could barely be called cheerfulness. Amelia raised her champagne glass in a silent toast of triumph.