Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the house, mingling with the scent of lavender from the garden. Emily wrapped her arms around herself, taking a deep breath of the air, and a smile widened on her face. Her new home, nestled amidst the trees, was her refuge, her sanctuary. A gentle warmth spread through her, a sense of belonging she had never known before.

A man, his face etched with worry, knocked on the door. He was a historian, it turned out, come to warn her about something terrible that had happened in the house. The details were grim, about violence and secrets. Emily listened, her initial surprise fading to a thoughtful expression.

The historian spoke of a murder, of long-ago trauma. She nodded slowly, her mind already moving on to the more important task of choosing the best spot to plant her herbs. "Interesting," she murmured, a gentle smile playing on her lips. She looked at the man's anxious face. "But, I feel so safe and happy here," she finished, smiling. He seemed bewildered, but she was already picturing the chamomile.