Gemotions

The sudden invitation to tea felt like a trap. Sarah, who usually avoided any interaction with her neighbor, Miss Peterson, found herself awkwardly seated in the floral-wallpapered living room. The air was thick with the cloying scent of potpourri, and Miss Peterson's smile felt pointed, predatory.

“Such a lovely yard you have, dear,” Miss Peterson had said, her voice a syrupy melody. “Perfect for… for nurturing. I was thinking, a small herb garden… a tiny corner of your space would be simply ideal.” Sarah’s throat constricted. She shifted uncomfortably on the plush armchair. The floral patterns seemed to close in on her, suffocating. The tea tasted like dirt.