Gemotions

The antique chandelier in the foyer seemed to sway. Amelia gripped the banister, her knuckles white against the polished wood. The real estate agent's words echoed: "Charming historical home… rich with character…" Now, the charm felt less like history and more like a shroud. A detective had visited earlier, explaining, very politely, that a murder had taken place here, years ago. She blinked, trying to focus on the floral wallpaper. The pattern swam before her eyes.

Her legs felt like lead as she ascended the staircase. The detective had pointed to the master bedroom, the location of the event. She hadn’t wanted to look, but she couldn’t stop herself from picturing it. Now, the space felt colder, even with the afternoon sun streaming in. The scent of lavender from her air freshener seemed… wrong, somehow.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, the mattress suddenly feeling unfamiliar. The pillows, usually so inviting, seemed to stare at her. She felt a strange buzzing in her ears and the world tilted. She buried her face in her hands, wanting it all to just… stop.