Gemotions

The dinner party had suddenly turned sour. My sister, Clara, had declared she was a Satanist. The expressions of the others at the table were a mix of shock and disapproval. I felt a cold dread creep into my gut.

I watched her, a small, defiant smile playing on her lips. She had always been the black sheep of the family, always pushing boundaries. I remembered the nights we spent stargazing, the shared dreams we had.

I wanted to yell at everyone, to tell them to stop judging, to just listen. Instead, I simply reached across the table and touched her hand, a small gesture of solidarity. I knew the road ahead would be tough.