Gemotions

The speech itself was the hurdle. Eleanor, her mother, had been very specific about what she wanted said. Her father, usually a man of few words, had seconded the request with a firmness that settled into her bones. She couldn't shake off the feeling that she was being used, although she had no idea why.

Walking around the garden party, she kept finding herself alone, isolated from the other guests. They seemed to be in a group, whispering to each other, casting glances in her direction. Her skin prickled. There were strange security cameras she didn't recall seeing on previous visits.

She had written the speech, but rereading it now, the words felt alien. They didn't reflect her feelings, her understanding of her parents. They felt…manufactured. And the longer she stood there, watching the carefully staged scene unfold, the deeper her unease became.