Gemotions

I made myself a cup of tea, the steam fogging up the kitchen window. The world outside was a blur of grey, mirroring my mood. I settled in my favourite armchair, a worn book in my lap, but I couldn't bring myself to read. The words blurred before my eyes.

The letter arrived. Official, stern. The house's history. A violent death. I felt my breath hitch. I set the cup of tea on the side table and the book slid off my lap.

I wandered through the house, each room feeling wrong. The sunlight through the windows felt intrusive. The scent of my things seemed alien, no longer comforting. I found myself sitting on the floor, my hands clasped loosely in my lap, and I stayed there.