Gemotions

The garden was overgrown, a tangled mess mirroring the knots in her stomach. Every morning, Eliza would walk past it, meaning to tend to the neglected space. But the motivation, the will to do anything, was gone. The world seemed to have lost its colour, drained of any vitality.

A man arrived at her door. A detective, his face grim. He delivered the news with a practiced air of detachment. The house was tainted. A crime. A horror. The garden, once a place of potential, now reflected the darkness that had taken root in the house's heart. Eliza wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come.