Gemotions

The perfume on her dress felt cloying, the silk fabric sticking to her skin. She had been assigned a table near the entrance, a strategic placement to greet guests. Sarah watched the guests arrive, their faces alight with smiles, and felt a coldness wash over her. She was supposed to deliver a toast, a toast that would undoubtedly feel dishonest.

Her father, a man of unwavering practicality, had always seemed to move through life with effortless grace. She, on the other hand, felt a constant pressure to conform, to live up to expectations, to fill the mold. She took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of lilies and the unspoken weight of her present circumstances. She felt the need to get somewhere, anywhere, away from the party.