Gemotions

"Honestly, Chloe, do you even *see* this mess?" Maya’s voice was sharp, echoing in the cavernous living room. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight slicing through the grimy windows. She kicked a stack of yellowed newspapers, scattering them across the faded Persian rug. The air in the house was thick, stagnant, heavy with the scent of mothballs and forgotten memories. Every creak of the floorboards, every cobweb clinging to the chandeliers, seemed to mock her. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a feeling of being completely overwhelmed by the enormity of the task ahead.