Gemotions

He adjusted his tie, the silk feeling oddly out of place in the faded grandeur of the living room. His sister, Eleanor, was already complaining about the state of the carpets, her voice sharp and brittle. He knew this would be a battle.

He ran a hand over the chipped mantelpiece, trying to appreciate the craftsmanship, the history. Eleanor, however, seemed determined to find fault with everything.

"The plumbing is probably a disaster," she said, her voice dripping with skepticism. "And the roof! Honestly, it's a wonder it hasn't collapsed."

He sighed. He looked at her tight jaw, her pursed lips. The house was a treasure, a relic of a different time. He knew that Eleanor, with her penchant for modern minimalism, would see only a burden. This was going to take a lot of work.