Gemotions

The front door creaked open, admitting a blast of frigid air and the scent of decay. Sarah, however, barely registered the cold. She stood on the threshold, her arms crossed, her expression a study in disapproval. Her brother, Mark, was already excitedly poking around the hallway, clearly enchanted.

The house was a jumble, a collection of her grandmother's possessions. It was a chaotic mess, a visual cacophony of patterns and textures. She felt the muscles in her shoulders tense.

She’d rather have sold the property outright, had it demolished. Dealing with this was a complete disruption of her carefully curated schedule. “This is a joke,” she muttered under her breath, turning away from her brother.