Gemotions

The musty air of the house clung to Amelia like a shroud. She wrinkled her nose, pulling the silk scarf higher over her mouth as though warding off a disease. Her brother, Leo, ambled through the entryway, whistling a jaunty tune, oblivious as ever. “Smells like old lady and mothballs,” he chirped, beaming at the chipped paint and peeling wallpaper. Amelia let out a short, sharp laugh – the sound devoid of mirth. "How… quaint," she managed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She couldn’t wait to get out of this relic.