Gemotions

The gate creaked open, its rusty hinges complaining in the gentle breeze. Amelia stood, looking at the house. She had a bag with her, but made no effort to pick it up. She didn't feel any pressure to begin.

She reached for the front door, her fingers resting on the old brass handle. She pushed it open, and the door easily gave way. Inside, the house was dimly lit, the sunlight struggling to penetrate the drawn curtains.

She moved deliberately through the rooms, noticing the details: the faded wallpaper, the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. She found herself smiling, a small, genuine expression. She sat on the sofa.